Détente
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: As the remains of the Institute leave a trail of smoke and ash, the remaining power players gather to discuss the fate of the Commonwealth…and what their relationship will be in building it.
1. The Castle

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

If there was one thing that Piper didn't like about the Castle, it was the fact that it was impossible to get a good night's sleep. The ancient fort sat on the waterfront of the great body of water whose name she had long since forgotten (Either the Atlantic or the Pacific. She knew one of those was the right answer), and when the sun rose in the morning it got bright _quickly_ out there. The Castle didn't have The Wall that Diamond City had, and there weren't any houses in the fort that had good protection against early morning light. So when the sun rose over the great sea, it was time to get up. No exceptions were made.

And especially not for chatty, smartass reporters.

Groaning, she yawned and rolled over onto her other side, turning her back away from the window as the light started to seep in through that blasted crack in the wall and make the stony interior of the fort illuminated in a bright glow. In the middle of the day, it was a cool effect. But right at the beginning? Utter misery.

And if _that_ wasn't torturous enough…

 _*Good morning, Minutemen! It is six A.M. here in the Commonwealth. Nothing to report at this time. Stay safe out there, everybody.*_

And cue the patriotic music gently lilting in through the fort.

Piper had no idea how Jonathan, the radio man for the Minutemen, got up and so chipper at this ungodly hour. Not even Travis "Lonely" Miles was that perky during the early-morning hours. Though his silky sly style of speaking probably made it easier for him to come to work hung over. Piper wondered if his friendship with Vadim hadn't been _too_ good for Travis' attitude: how the guy had gone from a shrinking violet to an easy-breezy fellow was an utter miracle, though.

But if she lay in bed any longer, she was going to go crazy. It was time to get up.

She sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Her bed was in one of the far wings of the upper levels of the Castle. It was a better place to be than the lower catecombs, where some of the lower-ranking grunts were bunked. It was also a lot more cramped down there, as one would expect for what amounted to military barracks. At least Piper only had to share her room space with one person when she bunked in the Castle.

"Ach. Me fuckin' head…who the bloody hell thought it was a good idea ta do Gwinnet shots? I'm gonna fuckin' _kill_ that ghoul."

Of course, that person was Cait.

The red-headed woman's hair was even more tousled than normal, in a truly tremendous achievement in bed-head, and she glanced over at Piper with bleary eyes.

"Fuck this place, am I right?" She asked with a slightly loopy grin. Piper just shrugged.

"Blue seems to handle it just fine."

"Ah, then fuck him too." Cait said. Suddenly, her smile deepened a little bit. "Hmm…now there's a thought…"

"Aaaand I'm getting up." Piper said, hastily getting out of her bed and making her way down to the lower level washrooms. It was a miracle that the place had running water, and water that was comparable to Diamond City as well. She washed up, got dressed in her usual attire, and fitted her cap snugly on her still slightly-wet hair. With that, she took a deep breath and walked out to the staging ground to begin the day.

There was already a good deal of activity outside. The Minutemen radio tower, positioned squarely in the center of the staging ground and surrounded snugly by a quartet of generators, was manned by Jonathan, who gave her a cursory wave as he continued to give morning announcements to the people of the Commonwealth. Off to the side, there were a few Minutemen doing some drilling, led by one of the junior officers. That cagey old colonel, Ronnie Hicks, was barking orders to the small contingent of eager trainees, reminding them that they were no longer a rabble of disorganized farmers and traders, they were _Minutemen_ and they were there to defend the people at a minute's notice. Judging by the starry look in their eyes, it was clear that the trainees were buying the sales pitch.

The garden was thronged with several Minutemen as well as a few civilians hard at work, and Piper smiled when she saw Sheffield amongst them. The poor bastard had been broke and homeless and practically dying of thirst until Blue found him, dusted him off, quenched his thirst with a Nuka Cola, and gave him a job as the lead gardener of the Castle. It was a job that Sheffield took to like a Mirelurk took to mud, and ever since then the Castle stuffed with plenty of fruit and other foodstock. Sheffield stood up from a Mutfruit tree he'd been pruning, his shaggy long hair tied back into a ponytail and his hands already covered in dirt and topsoil, and he made eye contact with Piper and gave her a friendly wave. She smiled and returned the gesture.

After a moment's worth of walking, she found who she was looking for. She let out a yawn, signifying her presence.

"Geez, Garvey, can't you guys put in a weekend moratorium on early starts to the day?" Piper asked. "It's hell on my beauty sleep."

Preston Garvey just chuckled.

"Sorry, Piper. We have to be ready to the defend the people-"

"At a moment's notice, I know." Piper finished for him, and the way his eyes twinkled it was clear that he was counting on her doing so. "But what about the night watch?"

"They're turning in for the night. Or day, I suppose." Preston said, gesturing to the small group of men and women wearily making their way to the lower catacombs of the Castle for a good night's sleep. "They're too tired to care about the activity now."

"If you say so." Piper said. As she spoke, she became aware of whom Preston had been talking to.

"Good morning, Miss Piper!" Codsworth said in a chipper tone. The Mr. Handy robot was floating lazily next to the Minuteman. "I was just informing Mr. Garvey of the improvements to the main generator. With any luck, we'll be far less wasteful in using energy by the end of the month!"

"That's great, Codsworth." Piper said, though she really didn't know the difference. Though she found the old robot humorous and a dutiful machine, there were times where he seemed to obsess over the minute details in a way that no human would ever care about. She then turned to Preston. "So, uh, heard anything yet?" She asked. Preston's smile faded slightly.

"So far, nothing." Preston said. "I have to assume that no news is good news. I trust that the General has a plan for it all."

"He has a _name_ , you know." Piper said, teasingly winking at the man next to her. He just smiled back.

"That's awfully rich coming from you, Piper."

They both smiled, but their gaze once again turned out towards the distance, and towards the floating metal monstrocity that was tethered above the Boston airport.

When the Brotherhood of Steel literally flew in from the sky a few months ago, Piper was convinced that it was the beginning of tyranny with an open face. She had run into a few Brotherhood types in her earlier days before she'd come to Diamond City and started the paper, and they were all jerks. But so far the Brotherhood hadn't really made many moves in the Commonwealth. They had their little missions that they carried out here and there, and there were days where the vertibirds would buzz around the Castle (but never directly over it) on their way to who knows where. But when it came to moving a move on the Commonwealth itself, the Brotherhood had been surprisingly dormant. They were confined to the coast, situated in the Prydwen and the Boston airport. And they hadn't made any major moves.

Of course, that might have been due to the Minutemen beating them to the punch.

"That…thing weirds me out." Piper finally said, staring at the marvel of technology that was suspended over the airport in the distance.

"The Prydwen?" Preston asked. "Yeah, it's…impressive. So far they haven't shot at us on sight, so I guess that's a good thing. But this little bit of nothing between the two of us isn't going to last forever."

"You think they're going to attack us?" Piper asked.

"…I don't know." Preston finally said after a moment's thought. "I have no earthly idea, Piper. I just trust that the General has a plan."

"He's always had one." Piper said.

"Yeah! My dad is the best!"

They both turned to look at the source of the voice.

Piper had been sitting on the ramparts of the Castle two weeks ago when an explosion the likes of which she'd never seen before had ripped through the sky, somewhere to the north of Diamond City. It sent up a massive dust cloud, and the sheer force of it and the wind nearly knocked her on her ass. When it had settled, there was a series of warps in the center of the Castle staging ground as the attacking Minutemen made their triumphant return to the Castle. They brought with them the most incredible of news: that they'd descended into the belly of the beast, the Institute itself, and blown it sky-high. Just like that, the nightmare of the Commonwealth was over. The Institute was gone. The Minutemen had gone into hell and brought back with them the hope for the future.

And Blue had brought back this kid.

When asked who the kid was, Blue was always adamant. "This is my son, Shaun." He would say. His voice would firm and resolute. But his eyes betrayed him: they were the look not of a man who is grateful the existence of his son, but rather the look of a man who is thankful that he has maybe been given a second chance at a life that was stolen from him.

It didn't take long for Piper and the others, the ones that were closest to the Sole Survivor of Vault 111, to determine that this child was actually a Synth. Perhaps the last Synth that was ever manufactured. But Shaun did not need to know that. In a world where the ugly truth was thrust right in your face like a charging Deathclaw, perhaps there was something comforting in this paradox of life: Shaun was not human, but he was still Blue's son. And Piper was determined to let the kid grow up believing that.

"Yeah, your dad is pretty awesome, kiddo." Piper said. Shaun was dressed in drifter's clothing, stuff that he'd seen on a caravaner and begged his dad for a pair. He was currently tinkering with a hot plate, taking it apart and putting it back together again. Unlike his father, who was smart but by no means captivated by science, little Shaun seemed utterly fascinated with figuring out the way things worked and how they were built. He was always in the labs or the workshop at the Castle, and if Curie wasn't as absurdly patient as she was then Piper was convinced that she would have thrown him out days ago. But perhaps Synths naturally gravitate to one another, just as humans do. So there was no issue.

"I get worried every time he leaves, though." Shaun said. He looked over at the Prydwen in the distance. "Those Brotherhood of Steel types scare me. Their armor is cool, but…there's something off about them. They don't seem very nice."

"The Brotherhood…think things through a little bit differently than we do." Preston said, coaching his words carefully. "But they want the same thing that we want in the end: peace in the Commonwealth."

"Bah! They just want peace on their terms. Not peace by the people _or_ for the people."

Before anyone could react, Shaun gave a squeal of shock and delight as he was picked up from behind and hoisted up on a pair of shoulders. A pair of shoulders belonging to one particular ghoul.

"Hancock, I'm surprised you're up this early." Piper said. "I thought you and Cait were…partying quite a bit last night." She coached her words carefully too, not wanting Shaun to get corrupted by the very negative influence that was literally right below him.

Her efforts were ruined by the slightly put-off look on Shaun's face, and he crossed his arms.

"Aunt Piper, I _know_ what Uncle Hancock and Aunt Cait were doing last night. I found all of the bottles out over the other side of the wall."

"Well, kiddo, you can't fault the reporter here for trying to keep you from getting swayed by crazy ol' me." Hancock said. He looked up. "Whatcha tinkerin' with today? Something that might turn me back into a smoothskin?"

"No, but one day I'm going to invent just that!" Shaun said proudly. "Right now I'm just tinkering with this hot plate. I figure it out, and maybe I might start tinkering with more complex machinery in the future."

"Shit, this kid is a tiny fraction of my age and he's already way smarter than I am." Hancock said. He laughed. "C'mon, kiddo! Let's go see what the others are up to. Make like one of them old whatchamacallits…airplanes! Yeah, stick your arms out and fly, kid!"

Shaun was utterly delighted as he spread out his arms and Hancock carried him off, both laughing the whole way. Preston and Piper watched them go. Codsworth broke the silence.

"I have to say, it pleases me right down to my inner circuits to see Master Shaun so happy. I do hope that his time trapped at the Institute did not ruin him."

Codsworth, despite being a very astute Mr. Handy, either hadn't been told or simply wasn't capable of the higher thinking to realize that the Shaun he saw was not really the Shaun he knew. Neither Piper nor Preston was about to tell him otherwise. And, to be honest, what difference did it make? In the end, the robot was happy. And that was all that mattered.

…

As the day carried on, Piper found herself doing what she could to pass the time. She jotted some notes in her notebook for future article ideas for the _Publick_ , and she wondered how Nat was doing. She knew that Nat was safe now that Mayor McDonough was…no longer a problem, and that both Danny Sullivan and even Travis were willing to keep an eye on her (Travis had even made a crack that he was all in favor of helping out the press, because it reflected well on free radio. Where _did_ he find this confidence to make dumb jokes like that?), but she was still her younger sister and Piper worried about her. She made conversation with some of the others friends that Blue had compiled over his journey. She played fetch with Dogmeat. She _tried_ to talk to Strong, but the super mutant was too busy grumbling about the milk of human's whatever to make much sense, so she gave up.

So there she was, as the sun started to set over the Commonwealth, staring out at the Boston skyline. It was kind of pretty in its own roundabout sort of way. She looked at the Mass Fusion building there, Diamond City off over there, and then laughed at the sight of the USS Constitution stuck up on that high rise. Seriously, how _did_ Captain Ironsides maintain the optimism that he did?

She became aware of a presence walking over towards her. She didn't even bother looking up. She knew who it was.

"Hey, Mac."

"How you doing?"

MacCready was one of the later additions to Blue's gang, but he made his mark rather quickly. For one thing, he had _terrible_ taste in smooth-talking lines. Piper had actually laughed hysterically that one time he'd tried one out on her and she realized that he wasn't hammered when he'd said it. Cait encouraged him, which only made it worse. And there were times where he could be so sarcastic that it was a wonder his tongue wasn't acidic. And while he had been hired on as a "rifleman consultant" to the Minutemen at the Castle for a healthy salary, he adamantly refused to wear anything official and even talked back to Colonel Hicks on the regular.

But deep under that snarky shell lay a man that who good-hearted, helpful and loyal to his friends, and the best goddamn rifleman in the Commonwealth. Maybe even the eastern coast of the old US, if his stories from the Capital Wasteland were to be believed. Piper wasn't sure, but his accuracy was almost divine.

"I'm hanging in there. A little bit bored, to be honest." Piper admitted. MacCready chuckled, and took a seat next to her. She took a look at the sniper rifle he had lying across his lap, and noted that the wood stock seemed to shine: clearly he'd been polishing the thing.

"Bored, huh?" MacCready asked. He smirked a little bit, and brought his rifle up. Piper smiled and rolled her eyes, knowing where this was going, but it was sometimes worth her while to humor the guy: sometimes you really _would_ see something amazing. "Here, lemme liven things up a bit." He started peering down the sight. "Okay, look out aways, across the water and towards the shore. See that Stingwing floating around on the shore out there, looking for some poor sap to suck dry?"

Piper squinted, but sure enough she could see one of those things that set her blood on ice. There were many things she hated in the Commonwealth, and Stingwings were probably at the top of the list.

"Yeah?" She said. MacCready grinned.

"I'm gonna punch a hole in its wing. Knock it right out of the sky."

"Bullshi-"

The sound of his rifle cut her off. She saw, in the distance, the Stingwing spasm in midair, and she saw a spray of blood coming out of one of the wings. The thing circled in the air and crashed to the ground, whereupon she saw a Mirelurk descend on the creature, intending to rip it to pieces. But the Stingwing was flailing about in its death throes, and by some cruel degree of luck managed to get its venomous tail right under the Mirelurk's protective shell and coursed poison through the water-logged creature's veins. Soon both creatures were flailing in the shore, and eventually they both shuddered and went still. MacCready and Piper both stared in shock, and then MacCready laughed.

"Hah! That's a rare two-fer right there. Never thought I'd be racking up doubles."

"And the legend of the East Coast Rifleman grows…" Piper said in a mocking voice. "Why don't you just take up Blue's offer and stay on full-time with the Minutemen? You'd be making more caps than anyone would know what to do with."

"And be tied down wearing one of those stupid hats?" MacCready snorted, slinging the sniper rifle back over his shoulder. "Nah, I prefer being a free-lancer. It gives me more negotiating space."

"You're _bullrushing_ Blue and the Minutemen." Piper said, putting two and two together and shaking her head in mock horror. "You're holding them up!"

"Hey, I seem to recall him saying that the fact that he pays me doesn't diminish our friendship." He flashed a cheeky grin. "Enhances it, really."

Piper just rolled her eyes.

"That has to be the dumbest line that you've ever come up with, Mac. And trust me, you've really had a few doozies."

MacCready just smirked, and tipped his cap to the reporter. With that, he set off for somewhere else down the ramparts, whistling some little ditty that he'd clearly learned in the Capital Wasteland.

Dinner was some unholy combination of mutfruit and week-old Brahmin steak. Piper had to let the meat soften in her mouth before even trying to bite it, knowing that she'd just break her teeth if she tried chomping right away. On one hand, it was necessity. On the other hand, it was _so hard_ because she was starving and even waiting for that momentary time was an utter pain.

"Are you alright, _mademoseille?_ "

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine, Curie." Piper said, looking up at the woman who had taken a seat next to her. It was still sort of weird talking to the lady: Curie had once been a Miss Nanny robot scientist, and then uploaded her brain into the brain-dead body of a female Synth. Now she was just "Curie," and as far as anyone knew she had always been the slightly flighty woman with the thick accent. Only a select few in Blue's inner circle knew what she had once been. "Just hungry."

"That is why you are eating, no?" Curie asked. "It is difficult sometimes for me to remember to eat. I get so excited working that _monsieur_ Shaun has to bring me food!" She smiled, and took a bite of a mutfruit she'd been holding. She then looked up towards the front of the Castle. "Are we having visitors?"

"Visitors?" Piper looked up and over in the direction that the Synth had been pointing. There was a veritable caravan of Brahmin making their way to the Castle. Some of the people walking alongside the Brahmin were the traders responsible for their well-being. But then she spotted some of the distinctive hats.

"Hey everyone! They're back!" Piper shouted, drawing the attention of most of the people in the staging ground. Almost immediately, Jonathan at the radio tower started broadcasting the safe return of the Minutemen excursion that had featured the presence of the General himself. Soon, a small crowd of people thronged the staging ground of the Castle, both in greeting friends and family that had returned safely from a trip into the dangerous wastes of the Commonwealth as well as helping to unload the caravans with the necessary supplies from Diamond City.

And right there in the center of it all was Blue.

"Dad!" Shaun raced forward, and Blue noticed his son was running to meet him. He was dressed in the attire of the Minutemen General, and he looked like a soldier returning home from a long tour of duty the way he hoisted Shaun up into his arms in a bear hug, spinning the little kid around. Blue was a pretty big guy: there was a running joke amongst the Minutemen rank and file that the General couldn't fit into Power Armor, but that that wasn't a problem because he was so big his skin was as hard as diamond. Thus, it was easy for him to spin around a ten-year old boy. He chuckled, and planted a little kiss on Shaun's forehead.

But then Piper saw his eyes.

Blue might have been smiling, but his eyes were worn and tired. Clearly he was holding onto some sort of information or news that was weighing on him. It must have been the kind of information that, at the end of the day, simply keeps you from properly enjoying festivities. He set Shaun down, and Piper saw Preston and Ronnie Hicks walk up to him. Piper's ears were sharp, and she heard Blue's words as clear as day.

"Meet me in the briefing room as soon as you can. Now would be preferable."

So they did.

About an hour later, as the moon shined in the night sky, Blue emerged from the briefing room of the Castle. He walked up the ramparts of the aging fort, and stared off into the distance, across the expanse of the great sea in front of him. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigar. He'd picked up an affinity for the things since he'd come into this new world, and now the sight of him smoking a stogie was as fitting as the sight of him in Minutemen regalia.

Piper made her way cautiously up the ramparts towards the tired Vault Dweller, who made no notice of her presence. It wasn't until she got within a few feet of him that he spoke.

"You were never able to sneak up on me, you know." He said. He smiled slightly, but he didn't make eye contact. Piper shrugged.

"Well, not everyone has the ears and smelling of a Deathclaw." She said. "So if I can't sneak up on you, I'm pretty sure that I can sneak up on everyone else."

"You couldn't run the _Publick_ otherwise." Blue said. "Unless you planned on running and screaming at a nearby raider camp 'Excuse me, do you have a minute for an interview?'"

Piper laughed despite herself. She let the silence sit for a moment, and then spoke.

"Blue, I've been with you the longest of everyone here. So I like to think that I know you the best."

"That's a fair assumption."

Piper bit her lower lip, and then came out with it.

"Blue, I've known you long enough to know when something is wrong. So what's bothering you?"

Blue starting puffing furiously on his cigar, soon covering his face in a cloud of smoke. He blew out a stream of it out his mouth, and then sighed.

"The _Publick_ is going to get a lot of business in the coming days."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He turned and looked at her.

"We were stopped on the way home by a Brotherhood patrol. Maxson's tired of waiting around. He demanded to meet with the General of the Minutemen to discuss the future of the Commonwealth."

A/N: While I sit and wait for inspiration for my other two ongoing stories, here's a little brief story (can't imagine it cracks ten chapter) from the Fallout4 Universe! Hope you enjoy. And, for clarity's sake, we're going with an endgame canon where the Institute was destroyed, Shaun 2 was rescued in the end, and the Sole Survivor is the General of the Minutemen. As for other things (the fate of Synths, romance, etc.)? Just wait and see.


	2. Preparations

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on. Also, in the first chapter I was an idiot and named her "Ronnie Hicks," when the cagey old Colonel is in fact Ronnie _Shaw._ I'll update the error as soon as I can.

She didn't sleep a wink that night.

Piper got up the next morning after feeling like it was only a few minutes before that she'd closed her eyes, and tried her best not to listen to the lilting violins of Radio Freedom or Jonathan's pleasant morning announcements. Part of her wondered what the hell was in that man's blood: was he just constantly hopped up on Jet, or was he just not that interested in the fact that the biggest story in the history of the Commonwealth (other than the obvious destruction of the Institute) was about to take place. The Brotherhood of Steel and the Minutemen were about to decide upon the fate of the Commonwealth. While she was stifling yawns with every step, Piper still felt a massive degree of giddiness.

And also a massive wave of panic. This was the biggest story _ever._ This was the kind of story that, if reported upon properly, would make the _Publick_ sell stories like hot cakes. Blue had gently pushed Piper in a certain direction when it came to publishing (but never content. He joked that if he wanted to censor her he'd just have Strong smash her printing press) in order to maximize readership, but this was in a whole new ballpark. This could be _big._ Maybe people would pay for courier transports to deliver copies of the _Publick Occurrences_ outside of of the Dimaond City area. Maybe, for the first time in _years,_ Piper could start turning a profit instead of merely breaking even. And maybe, if business boomed enough, she could hire another writer or two and spend a little less time running around chasing stories and a little more time at home with Nat. The girl was growing up, after all: she needed her big sis when the time came to talk about what life was like growing up and as an adult.

But if she fucked this up, then there would never be another occurrence like this in her lifetime. So she was nervous. _Extremely_ nervous.

And there was Blue, helping load some supplies on a pack Brahmin for the trek to Diamond City, utterly cool as a mutfruit. He tightened the pack on the back of the animal, and then tugged the ropes again to make sure that it was snug. And with that, he gestured to one of the convoy Minutemen that this one was ready to go. He noticed Piper standing there, and he tilted his head to the side, the way Dogmeat did whenever he was confused by something.

"You seem nervous." He said. Piper rolled her eyes.

"Who, me? No. Not me, I'm not nervous. You know Piper Wright, I'm the calmest and most collected person in this entire place, Blue! I can handle anything that you throw at me. And this is just another thing. You know? So, uh…yeah. Yeah, I'm not nervous."

Blue just raised an eyebrow.

"You're nervous."

"I'm not nervous I'm _panicking!_ " Piper hissed, lowering her voice so that she didn't startle the rest of the place with her words. She walked up close to Blue, leaning against the Brahmin that Blue was inspecting. "This is the biggest story of the Commonwealth, and the biggest story of my _career._ And I'm just a reporter who's going to be sitting on the sidelines! I'm not even responsible for the planning or execution of this whole thing. That's you!" She gestured to the General in front of her, the Man Out of Time as she'd once dubbed him. "And here you are…and you're not nervous at all. You don't look nervous. Shouldn't you be _nervous?_ "

Blue's smirk became a little bit more visible, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Would it help?" He asked. Piper threw up her arms in exasperation.

"Ugh, you're unbelievable!" She said. She then turned back and looked him square in the eye. "I hope you're taking this seriously, you know. I've managed to wrangle a few words out of some of the Brotherhood types that came into Diamond City. Blue, they're all _assholes._ So smug and so superior to the rest of us. And so assured that their 'code' is the only way to live life. And they hate ghouls and Synths!" She narrowed her eyes. "And those are just the rank and file grunts. I've heard stories about their Elder Maxson. I know you've met him a few times, but this is a situation where he isn't on the best of terms with you. If you take this lightly, he's going to eat you alive."

"It won't come to that." Blue said. He'd made an effort the previous night to clean his uniform, though it was clear that the trek from the Castle to Diamond City was going to dirty up his uniform once more. "We did destroy the Institute, after all. The Brotherhood might not like us, but they have to respect that."

"They're not going to respect that forever." Piper warned. "Soon their respect is going to give in to jealousy."

"Then we make sure these are brief peace talks, right?" Blue asked, a smirk on his face. "Go get the rest of our friends. I want to quick talk to them about what's going on."

…

Roughly fifteen minutes later, Piper and the others were standing in the middle of the "command" room of the Castle. It was a sparsely decorated room, with a pair of bookshelves against the wall and Blue's desk in the center. There were a lot of letters and papers on the desk: since holotapes weren't cheap, Blue did an awful lot of writing the old fashioned way. Piper always liked how elegant his handwriting looked, despite the fact that he didn't look like a particularly writerly sort.

As the rest of them stirred slightly in impatience, the door opened and Blue walked into the room. Everyone had found a chair (save for Strong, who was stubbornly refusing to sit in a human chair), and Blue took his place in front of his desk. He cleared his throat and got right into it.

"Well, I suppose there's no need for buildup. You all know what's happening. The Brotherhood of Steel has formally reached out to the Minutemen to set up a meeting to discuss the future of the Commonwealth, now that the Institute is out of the picture." He began. "As the General of the Minutemen, I'm naturally going to be at the forefront of this, and Arthur Maxson is going to be my counterpart for the Brotherhood."

"So where do _we_ come into this, lover?" Cait asked with a trace of mischievous sarcasm. Piper rolled her eyes. Ever since Cait had been detoxed of Psycho and properly recovered from withdrawals (with the help of Curie's medical expertise), she'd developed a rather sly sense of humor and a penchant for sexual innuendos. Comments like that were par for the course for the redheaded woman, as it seemed her new mission in life to make men (and even a few women) awkward around her. She was still kind of a bitch, in Piper's mind, but at least now it wasn't so ambiguous as to whether or not she was actually a good person.

Blue, to his credit, completely no-sold the remark.

"Well, if I know anything about Arthur, he's going to bring in some of his closest associates to help facilitate this deal…or, more likely, try to intimidate me into signing something that doesn't appeal to my best interests. Which is why I'm going to be bringing a few friends of my own." He then paused. "But this is a delicate situation. Everyone has a role to play in this, and no one can afford to mess it up by stepping out of their roles."

"You just come up with all of this last night?" MacCready asked.

"Once upon a time, MacCready, I was a captain in the United States military." Blue replied. "And if there's one thing that I remember from my training, it's to always have a plan ahead of time. I've been thinking about this day ever since I chose to give Sturges the information he needed to tap into the Institute mainframe instead of Proctor Ingram. Who will be at this meeting, most likely." He looked around the room. "I can't take everyone. But even those that stay behind have a role to play."

"Human talk too much. When Strong smash enemies?" The Super Mutant grumbled. Blue smirked.

"I'm glad you mentioned that, Strong. There's going to be a lot of talking in the next few weeks. That's definitely not something you would like. So you're going to stay here at the Castle with the Minutemen. If there are any raids, you're going to be right on the front lines, smashing people left and right."

"Hm. Human smart. Strong not like talking. Only smashing. Strong like this plan."

Blue nodded, and turned to the others.

"Since this is a meeting that involves the leaders of the strongest factions in the Commonwealth, it would make sense to get civic leaders involved in the affair." He said. "The first scheduled meeting for this series of talks is in Diamond City. But since the mayor is, ahem, currently vacant…"

Piper couldn't resist the smug look that was forming on her face.

"…then we're going to have to have a representative from the next best place: Goodneighbor." Blue said. He looked off to the side. "Hancock, you're coming with me to Diamond City."

"A ghoul returning to Diamond City?" Hancock asked, a smile on his face. "Man, if it wasn't for the fact that I don't see anything crazy, I'd think I was tripping right now. Glad to run it with you, boss."

"Not to be Johnny Radstorm here, but won't having a ghoul at the proceedings piss Maxson off?" MacCready asked. "No offense, Hancock."

"None taken, Mac." Hancock said. "It isn't you that's the racist prick."

"That's a fair point." Blue conceded. "But I have a way to get Maxson to at least listen to some of my little conditions of this meeting. If he's coming to these talks in good faith, then he'll understand that the trade-off for him bringing his Proctors with him is that I get to bring the crazy mayor of Goodneighbor with me."

MacCready nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.

"Preston is my Adjutant, so naturally he's coming with me." Blue continued. "He's my chief lieutenant, after all."

"With all due respect, General, I don't actually hold an official rank in the Minutemen." Preston admitted. "I haven't put in for reapplication since the loss at Quincy."

"Oh, well you should have mentioned that, Lieutenant Colonel." Blue said. He paused. "Congratulations, by the way. I'll have Codsworth notify Colonel Shaw and we'll get the paperwork drawn up immediately."

"I'm right on it, Sir!" Codsworth said cheerily. "And, if I may, perhaps it would be best that I stay at the Castle for now? I don't think there is much need for a Mr. Handy at a peace talk, even though I'd be excellent at whipping up snacks and refreshment!"

Blue smiled.

"No, you're right Codsworth. You're excused from the talks and can go back to your duties as Keeper of the Castle. Dismissed."

"Thank you Sir!" Codsworth beamed, as he floated out to notify Ronnie Hicks of Preston's new promotion. The latter was still sitting in his chair in a stupor, so Blue continued.

"Let's see…MacCready can come as a freelancer to my attachment of Minutemen that are travelling to the city."

"I'm recording that in the payment book as overtime, chief." MacCready said.

"Denied, but nice try." Blue said without missing a beat. "I'll allow regular wage payment for those extra hours but not overtime double-pay." He looked around the room. "Cait, you're not interested in politics. So you can stay here at the Castle. Curie, I think the Synth presence in Diamond City should be kept on the down low for the time being. Piper is with the press, so of course she's coming. Nick is already in Diamond City working cases for the agency, so I'm sure we'll see him around at some point. Am I missing anyone?"

"What about _monsieur_ Deacon?" Curie asked. "Should he not be coming with you? He is very intelligent, no?"

"Deacon and the Railroad are sitting this one out for now." Blue said. "Desdemona has no interest in politics, just helping Synths get out of the Commonwealth if they wish. Considering we'll have the lion's share of the Brotherhood's attention, I wouldn't be surprised if the Railroad goes into overdrive smuggling Synths out under their watch. And I'm sure that Deacon will be drifting around at some point. I'll give 100 caps to whoever spots him this time. Curie got it last time: I expect better from the rest of you."

"Okay, so if Preston is coming with you, and Ronnie is leading missions to recon Quincy and Kingsport Lighthouse, then who are you leaving in charge of the Castle?" Piper asked.

Blue looked at her.

"…I was getting to that."

The door opened as if on cue.

…

Piper had to admit, there was a time that she thought Blue was going to cast his lot in with the Brotherhood of Steel. He'd gotten along well with some of the lower-ranking members of the organization, and had even earned the respect of a few of the "Proctors," which Blue told her was the organization's equivalent of a city council. Considering the way he was carving through the ranks, Piper started to wonder whether the Brotherhood might start easing off some of their more ardent policies with someone like Blue in their ranks.

But all of that had ended. Blue's interest in helping the Brotherhood of Steel as a member of their ranks had withered on the vine. Though he was not ashamed of the things that he had done for the Brotherhood, it was clear that he was not interested in renewing his commitment to the group ever again.

And it was all because of the man standing in the doorway.

Cait was the first one to speak.

"Holy shite, I didn't think you ever left that armor, Danse!"

It might not be proper to call him "Paladin" anymore, but there was no changing the name he'd been given. Danse was still Danse. For the longest time, he'd thought of himself as a noble defender of the Brotherhood's principles, someone who was clearly devoted to the cause and the goodness of cleansing the Commonwealth and even the rest of the old United States. He had risen through the ranks proudly, and at one time there had been talk that he'd take over for the aging Proctor Quinlan when the latter decided to retire.

But all of that had disappeared upon the discovery that Danse was in reality a Synth. The very thing that he'd spent much of his time in the Commonwealth fighting to eradicate. And just like that, he'd been marked an abomination and had been marked for immediate termination. If it hadn't been for the intervention of Blue, then he would have been taken down a long time ago.

And what an intervention it was. Piper was not there, as she'd been busy at the Castle, but she'd heard the whole story from Preston. Apparently the Elder himself had arrived, demanding to know why Blue hadn't immediately terminated Danse, and then ordered him to terminate the man on the spot. Preston told her that he'd been about to talk back to the Elder himself, when Blue had done something even more intimidating than anything Preston could have said.

He'd drawn his gun on Maxson.

And not just _a_ gun, but _that_ gun. The one that Blue kept holstered up on his chest in a leather bandolier, resting against his right breast. It was a big and ugly gun, a .44 caliber six-shot revolver that looked like it could blow someone's head clean off. Just the sight of the thing was enough to get most people to respectfully listen to what Blue had to say, or fearfully listen to one of his orders. There was almost a mystique to that gun amongst the Minutemen rank and file: Blue had been carrying that thing for a very long time, and yet to everyone's knowledge he had _never_ fired it. Not even the rest of his companions had ever seen him take the thing out of its holster, much less fire the damn thing. He usually stuck to his shotgun or an assault rifle.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was one person who'd seen Blue fire that gun. Nick had gone with Blue to find the man that had kidnapped Blue's son and killed his wife, and when they'd come back Blue had that gun holstered on his chest. Whenever anyone ever asked the old Synth what had happened and why Blue had that gun, Nick's response was the same every time.

"There's only three people in the world that know the answer to that question: one's dead, one's not talking, and I don't spill my friends' personal information."

Evidently, the Brotherhood must have heard of that pistol, because Maxson had listened to whatever Blue's argument was, and had spared Danse's life. Though he made it clear that the former Paladin was dead to him as well as the Brotherhood.

So to see Danse here, in the doorway of the Castle's briefing room, wearing the same kind of clothing you'd find on a drifter or a settler, was incredibly jarring.

Danse looked over at Cait, and shrugged.

"The power couplings between the fusion coil and my armor's left leg have been sticking lately." He said. "Until Sturges comes in from Sanctuary Hills to take a look at it, there's not a whole lot I can do. So now I look like the rest of you, for once."

"Fake man still fake man." Strong muttered.

Danse shot him a glare. The two obviously didn't get along, and sometimes Piper wondered if they'd be at each others' throats if it wasn't for Blue's presence in mediating arguments. Except now Blue was heading off to Diamond City, and he was leaving the two of them behind. That could not possibly end well.

"Strong. If you keep that up I _will_ take you to Diamond City. And make you listen to all of the talking." Blue said. That got the super mutant to go fearfully quiet. Blue turned to the rest of them. "Before anyone asks, it's simply a matter of tactical appraisal. Preston is coming with me to Diamond City. Ronnie Shaw has expressed not only zero interest, but possibly _negative_ interest in handling the day-to-day affairs of the Castle. She's good at training men and leading raids, but that's her forte. I need someone who is meticulous and good at maintaining a position. Danse has the experience, and he has something else too."

"That being?" MacCready asked. Blue just looked at him.

"My trust." Blue said. "And the Minutemen on site don't have a problem with him."

That was a half-truth, and Piper knew that Blue knew it. When the truth first came out that Danse was a Synth, the reaction of the Minutemen in the Castle was decidedly mixed. Piper knew this because she was excellent at scuttlebutt and snooping around and, when all else failed, casually gossiping. Apparently there were a lot of Minutemen that were willing to get chatty when a pretty girl in a nice red coat started asking them questions. At least she didn't do what Cait did, however, and actually sleep with some of them. But most of the Minutemen were indifferent to Danse's reveal: they didn't think of him any different, because they all thought of him as the hardass guest drill instructor that Colonel Shaw used to teach close range fighting and proper formation. Those that had hatred of Synths were either smart enough to keep their mouths shut, or legitimately came to accept Danse as one of their own as a sort of middle finger to the Brotherhood.

In the end, most of the Minutemen were glad that Danse was simply on their side. And that was the end of that.

"I don't take these responsibilities lightly." Danse said to Blue. "I'm flattered and honored that you would choose me to head the Castle in your absence."

"It's no big deal, Danse. You're probably just going to be dealing with paperwork and keeping the lights on." Blue said. "I wouldn't put you in a situation that you would be unqualified for handle."

Danse nodded. He then looked at the rest of them.

"I understand that my demeanour in the past has been…somewhat brusque with the majority of you." He said. "But I assure you that I am a friend, and I will do what I can to earn a degree of your trust while I'm in charge of the base."

There was a general murmuring of agreement, and with that Blue dismissed the acting commander of the Castle. He then turned to the rest of the group.

"I think that about covers it." He said. "The caravan is leaving the Castle in about an hour. Make sure you've got enough caps to cover rooms at the Dugout Inn or elsewhere for a few days. Once I get the profits from trade to Bunker Hill, then I'll be able to reimburse you. But for now I'm afraid that you're gonna have to fund your lodging out of your own pocket."

There was a general groan of disappointment, but there wasn't a whole lot that Blue could do. Piper knew that he was a good and decent man, but he wasn't made out of caps. So they had to grin and bear it. Well, maybe the grinning wasn't going to happen, but the bearing it definitely was.

…

"Hey, uh, Blue. You got a moment?"

He turned around to see Piper walking up to him. It was just a few minutes past noon, and the caravan of Brahmin, Minutemen, and the leaders of the Commonwealth (Blue and Hancock) were just about ready to leave for the jewel of the Commonwealth: Diamond City.

"What's up, Piper?" He asked.

"It's just…I just wanted to wish you luck." She said. "I know that I'm gonna be there, and that I'm gonna be reporting on the whole damn thing…but I feel like you're going to be alone out there. So I just wanted to wish you luck. You know? Because you've done so much…and this seems like it's the hardest thing you've ever had to do."

Blue's expression grew melancholy. By his body language, it was clear that he wanted her to move in closer so that she could hear him in private. When she was sufficiently close enough, he practically whispered the words in her ear.

"This is not the hardest thing I've ever done in my life." He said. He paused, as if he was about to say something else. But then just like that, his demeanour returned to normal. "You're probably gonna enjoy yourself writing this one. Just…be careful not to editorialize too much, Piper. This is the sort of thing that requires delicacy, and a sensational newspaper might sell well…but it might piss off the Brotherhood."

"Are you suggesting I _censor_ myself?" Piper spat, as if this was the most vile thing he could have said. Blue shook his head with a smile.

"No. I'm just suggesting that you report the truth."

Piper chuckled sardonically.

"Wow, Blue. That's a novel concept. 'Intrepid reporter determined to find the truth in the sea of propaganda!'" She held up her hands as if imagining a headline. She then looked over at him. "By the way, what are you gonna do about Shaun?"

"He's too young to understand the ins and outs of politics. And…" Blue trailed off. "And I don't want him to fear the messiness of the world while he's so happy. I asked Danse to look after him."

" _Danse?_ " Piper asked. "Blue, I trust you but… _seriously?_ Danse might not even know what children _are._ "

"Danse is a good man. He's a little rigid, but that's the thing about Shaun." Blue said. "He has a way of worming himself into your heart. I think the interaction might be good for the big guy."

"That just fills me with confidence." Piper said. "But okay. Okay, if you believe it's a good idea I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." She said. There was a whistle blowing, and the caravan slowly started to move out of the Castle. "Well, I guess this is it. Here's to a successful meeting and peace talk, right Blue?"

He nodded.

"It should go well."

"Geez Blue, not even a sarcastic joke about how goddamn difficult this is going to be? Are you really not aware of or afraid of the magnitude of what you're about to do?"

Piper knew as soon as the words left her lips what his answer was going to be. She hoped that he wouldn't be so predictable. She hoped that he'd show mercy on her. She hoped that he wouldn't say exactly what she knew he was going to say.

He said it anyway.

"Would it help?"

A/N: I might have seen Bridge of Spies recently. So I hope you enjoyed this one! A lot of lore-building for this chapter. Next chapter is where the talks between Arthur Maxson and Blue (still not revealing his name) get started. There will be fireworks. Perhaps literally! We shall see. Until next time!


	3. Inauspicious Beginnings

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Diamond City could be awfully cramped at times. It could be loud, it could get a little bit hot (especially in the summers), and if it wasn't for the Wall sometimes it felt like the entire enterprise was a complete disaster of a concept. There was also a degree of trepidation in living in the former arena of a sport that was as violent as baseball, though Piper was starting to wonder if the history of that sport was perhaps a little bit exaggerated. Rarely had she ever seen Blue get _angry,_ but it looked like he wanted to rip Moe's face off when the latter had given his usual sales pitch about Swatters and the history of baseball. Then again, Blue was from before. He probably did know better, after all.

But despite the flaws, it was still home. And it was a lot more secure (or at least felt that way) than many of the other areas throughout the Commonwealth. Goodneighbor was a nice place, but it was a little bit too rough-and-tumble for Piper. Though perhaps for the current mayor, it was exactly the attitude that he wanted to cultivate in his city.

"I gotta say, it's awfully nice that you're letting me back into Diamond City." Hancock said to Blue, as the two of them were walking at the front of the convoy. Blue had refused to ride on the back of one of the pack Brahmin, and instead was walking alongside. Hancock hadn't wanted to get shown up, so he'd hopped off and joined his fellow man.

"It's a matter of principle." Blue said. "You're just the kind of crazy that Diamond City needs."

"No kidding!" Hancock said. He smiled, but then it seemed as though he had remembered something and then his smile faded. "Though if I recall correctly, you said that the Brotherhood ain't exactly the biggest fans of my type of people. The ferals? I get it, you need to put those bastards down. But guys like me?..." He trailed off. Blue seemed to sense where he was going with this.

"Hancock, you're being brought to this meeting because I trust your judgment. Where everyone else looks at you and thinks 'this is a drug-addled lunatic'-"

"They would be correct." Hancock said with a smirk.

"- _I_ see a capable leader." Blue continued. "Also, think of your presence as a litmus test."

"How so?" Hancock asked. Blue shrugged.

"If Elder Maxson can't deal with the fact that I invited the Mayor of Goodneighbor, then he'll have to learn to deal with it quick." Blue said. And then he spoke again. "And if he can't handle the fact that you are a Ghoul, then I know that he was never serious about these talks in the first place."

"You were automatically assuming that he was serious?" Hancock asked. "I assumed his deal was gonna be to stroll in here with guns pointed: 'I'm Maxson. Sign this goddamn agreement or I'll shoot you.'"

"That sounds like something you would do, Hancock." MacCready said from his Brahmin mount. MacCready was not about to pass up a chance to rest his legs, and had gladly taken a Brahmin to ride on. Hancock chuckled.

"Only if I've mistakenly taken Psycho instead of Jet." The Ghoul fired back. "That reminds me. I'd better check to make sure I brought my gear." He shuffled through the bag he'd slung over his back, and Blue struggled not to roll his eyes at the sound of syringes rattling around in there. "Yep! Got everything I need."

As they reached the front gate of Diamond City, the on-duty guards that were outside the city walls seemed very happy to see the Minutemen General and his officers arriving. There was a sizeable Minutemen presence in Diamond City, but it wasn't a lot: Blue was adamant that the Minutemen serve as an auxiliary force to the already-present Diamond City security forces that were present in the city. It was an arrangement that was welcomed by the City Council, who had feared a hostile takeover in the wake of Mayor McDonough's death.

This was especially considering that Blue had been the one to personally kill the infiltrating Synth himself. And Piper had witnessed the whole thing. Blue had calmly and gently asked that McDonough let his secretary Geneva go, and somehow the blonde-haired woman had been allowed to flee for her life. And when McDonough tried to weasel his way out of any repercussions, Blue had still given him a chance to surrender peacefully. If the mayor was willing to stand trial for his crimes, then he'd be allowed to walk out of that room in one piece.

But McDonough had instead tried to turn his gun on Piper, the woman who'd stuck to her suspicions that there was a Synth in the city upper echelon like a fly to honey, in some last-ditch effort to get back at the woman who had ruined his charade and brought down his entire scheme.

Piper took note that Blue had planted two shots in McDonough's chest, followed by a coup de grace between the eyes. He was a skilled marksman: usually he only needed a single headshot to dispatch an enemy like that. Clearly he must have _hated_ McDonough. That or…Piper wasn't sure why Blue had suddenly dispatched his usual efficiency for something so…disproportionate.

But soon that thought and reminiscence was out of her mind as the caravan was led into the city limits, through the front gate.

…

"Extra! Extra! The Brotherhood of Steel and the Minutemen preparing for peace talks to decide the fate of the Commonwealth! Read all about it, only in the _Publick!_ "

Piper started laughing at the sight of her younger sister Nat standing up on the cinderblock in front of their stand, hawking the latest edition of the paper. Since Piper had spent the past couple of days at the Castle, Nat clearly had written an article or two of her own. She was young, but her writing prose was pretty straightforward and sharp. Piper was glad that Blue had encouraged her not to abandon her younger sister out of some misguided fear: Nat was turning into another pretty capable reporter in her own right. Also, she wasn't nearly as pushy as Piper was, which was better at getting a few of the more reticent people in Diamond City talking.

Wait. How did she-

"Nat!" Piper shouted, drawing her sister's attention. As soon as they'd hugged hello, Piper held her sister by the shoulders and practically shook her. "How on _earth_ did you know about this meeting? I only just found out about it last night!"

"I got a tip from one of the Minutemen." Nat shrugged. "He said I should write a quick article in the paper, and then when you got back you could write the majority of it."

Piper blinked once in shock.

"Wait… _you handled Baby?_ _By_ _ **yourself?**_ "

"Baby" of course was that old and rickety printing press that Piper had restored with her own two hands years ago. It was also a very finicky machine, and Piper didn't allow Nat to go near it when it was running. The thought of Nat losing a limb because she got too close was a thought that Piper couldn't bear.

But Nat shook her head.

"Nah. The same Minuteman stayed around and helped. He's the one handing out copies of the _Publick_ over there in front of the chapel."

He was a very old fellow, with a long beard and greying hair in addition to his rancher clothing. He wore the standard hat of most of the Minutemen, and he gave Piper a friendly wave.

"You must be Miss Wright!" He said cheerily. His smile revealed a few missing teeth. "I helped lil' Nat over there put together the latest edition." Piper smiled back.

"How did you find out about the meeting, sir?" Piper asked.

"A little birdie might have told him."

Piper whirled around to see a very smug-looking man behind her.

" _Blue…_ " She groaned. "Isn't that a conflict of interest for you to be tipping off the press?"

"Only if I start giving editorial suggestions." Blue said, taking a nonchalant bite out of a mutfruit. Piper just smiled and shook her head.

The delegation of Minutemen started to disperse throughout the city. The Brahmin were led to the other edges of the city, and were kept under careful watch of a few of the better-armed men in the company. After all, Brahmin that had been trained to carry people in addition to bluk supplies were quite valuable. MacCready took an opportunity to stroll through the streets, as well as catch up with Arturo, the affable owner of Diamond City's gun store. Standing in the center of town, right in the middle of things, Blue was leaning against one of the stools at the noodle shop. Piper looked over at him, and then at a woman that was walking towards him.

"Blue, you got company."

Blue turned and looked. The woman was dressed relatively nice. She was probably from the higher box seat housing. That kind of status was a given for the members of the City Council. She was dressed in a business dress and it seemed as though she was wearing a little bit too much makeup, in Piper's personal opinion. She offered her hand, and Blue shook it.

"Mr. General of the Minutemen, sir." She said. "I'm Delilah Greengrass, the head of the City Council here in Diamond City. I hope that your trip to our fine city was uneventful?"

"Just sniped a few bloatflies, but other than that it was pretty quiet." Blue said in a pleasant tone. Delilah nodded.

"Oh, good." She said. Her tone was a little too sweet, like she would rather be anywhere but here but was pretending to be excited. "So, about this little discussion…how long do you think it's going to take?"

Piper knew the implications of that sort of question. This Delilah didn't want anything to inconvenience the city, and certainly didn't want two armies meeting in her town for anything longer than necessary. Piper hated people like that. They'd willingly live on their knees if it meant they'd get to mind their own business.

But Blue wasn't about to give her a lie to make her feel better.

"I'm afraid that I don't know, Delilah." Blue said. "But if it makes you feel any better, the presence of both the Brotherhood and the Minutemen will make Diamond City the safest place in the Commonwealth."

"Oh…good." Delilah said with a hint of relief in her voice. She gestured up high. "We, um, converted the mayor's office into a sort of meeting room for you and the leaders of the Brotherhood. I think that the lift can carry you all, but maybe not at once? I don't know how heavy their armor is."

"We'll work something out." Blue said.

"Thank goodness." Delilah said. "Now, I have to wonder when they'll arriv-"

…

They heard the sound long before they saw the source. And yet somehow it managed to cut through the white noise of Diamond City as though there was dead silence. The whirring of helicopter gyros and a slight humming noise of the engines. It seemed as though everyone in the city looked up to see the small fleet of Vertibirds cutting through the sky towards the city. Soon, they were lazily circling over the entire area like birds of prey. If Piper looked carefully, she could see that there were fully-armored Brotherhood Knights manning the turrets of each vehicle. In total, there were four Vertibirds that were circling the city above.

And then one decided to descend.

It was the most-polished of the Vertibirds, and the one with the stoutest armor. It continued to descend further and further, kicking up dust and the loose detritus that might have been scattered around Diamond City's streets. Abbott shouted angrily as he realized that the Vertibird was about to land right on top of him and his open area in front of the Wall, but then his common sense prevailed and he ran for cover. The Vertibird, to its credit, touched down as gently as possible, as if the pilot was taking care not to damage anything that he was about to come into contact with. The doors on the side of the vehicle hissed, and then opened.

"Show offs." Hancock muttered.

The group seemed to create a bubble of fearful separation between themselves and the citizens of Diamond City as they made their way to the town square. Blue looked at the group, and saw that there were two fully-armored Knights on the flanks, each armed with massively unnecessary miniguns. In the inner group, on one side walked Proctor Ingram, her armor whirring with each step to support her ruined legs. Proctor Quinlan was on the other side, looking positively nebbish in comparison to the heavily-armored Knights and Proctor with him.

And yet they all paled in comparison to the intensity that radiated off the man in the middle.

The first thing that Piper noticed about Arthur Maxson was that, if it wasn't for that glare that could cut through the Wall, he'd be kind of good-looking. A handsome fellow in a _killer_ coat. But the way he carried himself screamed of someone who took themselves too seriously for romance or even casual flings.

The quintet of Brotherhood delegates stopped in front of the Minutemen leaders, and for a moment there was silence. Proctor Ingram gave a subtle nod towards Blue. Even though the man wasn't in the Brotherhood anymore, he'd been a very helpful individual. Proctor Ingram seemed to be taking in the sights, and then scribbling notes into his little notepad. But it was Arthur Maxson that seemed to command the attention of everyone in the city. He was dead silent, his glare etched deep into his face, and he looked around the city with what looked like barely-concealed disdain. And then he walked forward. Blue followed suit.

There was a tension in the air that was nearly suffocating. It was like those old Grognak the Barbarian comics Piper loved to read, where Grognak faced off against the bad guy in the center of a town, except this was real life and way more terrifying. Maxson and Blue were just staring at each other. And what a marked difference between the two there was. Maxson had his hair cut sharp, buzzed to the sides, and a thick and bushy beard. There was an ugly scar on his right cheek, which was stitched up. It was the kind of cut that only came from a Deathclaw's strikes, which led Piper to the terrifying conclusion that this man had killed one with his own hands. Maxson was dressed in his flight jacket, and seemed immaculately clean. He was professional, confident, disdainful, and cold as ice. He was the smallest of the group of Brotherhood individuals, and yet he was so intense that no one cared about his size.

Blue couldn't be more different. For one thing, he was a good head taller than the Brotherhood Elder, and he had a far broader build than Maxson. In contrast to Maxson's sharp look, Blue's outfit was faded, worn, and spattered with mud. He was laid-back, a little bit enigmatic, and warmer than the sun. If he was being intense, Piper couldn't tell.

So, naturally, he was the first one to speak.

"Welcome to Diamond City, Elder Maxson." He said. "I hope that your travels were uneventful-"

"Where is the meeting?" Maxson cut him off, and didn't even bother to inflect a properly questioning lilt to his voice. It came off less as a question and more as a demand. Blue was unperturbed.

"The plan is to meet in the mayor's office." Blue said, pointing up towards the room in question. Maxson followed his gesture with his eyes, and somehow his frown got more pronounced.

"The mayor will not mind?"

"There is no mayor currently in Diamond City." Blue said.

Maxson shook his head slightly, and Piper could just see the gears turning in his head as he created a preconceived notion of anarchy in the Commonwealth's largest city all in his head. She hated him already.

"That's a rather thin lift to get up there." Proctor Ingram said. "I doubt that everyone could get up there in one go."

"I agree, Proctor." Blue said. "I figured that we could go in groups. The secondary leaders up first, and then Arthur and I-"

"What is _that?_ " Arthur Maxson suddenly interrupted, his voice barely containing his rage.

Everyone realized that he was looking at Hancock, who was currently blissfully smoking something. Hancock looked at Maxson, and smiled.

"Oh, hi! The name's Hancock. John Hancock if you want to be formal. I'm the mayor of Goodneighbor. You must be Elder Maxson. The pleasure is mine." He extended a hand.

Maxson visibly recoiled, as though mere contact would cause Ghoulification. Hancock shrugged.

"Have it your way."

"I did not think that Ghouls had the cognitive function to serve in civic duty." Proctor Quinlan observed. Hancock shrugged.

"Hey, man, I've only been like this for about ten years. I feel as sharp as ever."

"Fascinating…" Proctor Quinlan said, and then jotted something down in his notepad. Maxson looked at him, and then looked as though he'd realized something.

"This isn't everyone. Where is… _ **SCRIBE!**_ " He barked, causing everyone (except Blue, Piper noticed) to flinch at the sound of his voice.

"Sorry, Elder!" There was the sound of running footsteps, and soon Scribe Haylen was huffing and puffing right beside the Elder. Maxson glared at her, obviously furious that she was late, and then turned to Blue.

"This is my official recorder of these proceedings. I assume that you have a similar individual?"

"That would be Piper Wright, of the _Publick Occurrences._ " Blue said, gesturing to the reporter to his right.

Piper felt Maxson's eyes on her, and then he spoke.

"I've never heard of it."

Oh, she was gonna wring his little neck.

"Piper and Haylen can go up with Proctor Quinlan. Then Proctor Ingram and Preston. And then you and I." Blue offered. "Any objections?"

Arthur stared at him impassively.

"None."

"Great!" Blue said, clapping his hands together. "Piper, why don't you show Proctor Quinlan and Scribe Haylen te way up? Then Preston can take Hancock and Ingram. And so forth."

Piper nodded, and gestured for them to follow her. She felt bad for Scribe Haylen to get embarrassed by her boss like that…but that Proctor Quinlan made her a little bit uncomfortable. Human beings had empathy and warmth. Quinlan didn't really seem to have any interest outside of science. That sounded an awful lot like the Institute to her.

…

After some time, everyone was in the conference room, and seated at the table. Proctor Ingram was standing, as she made a little wisecrack over none of the chairs being able to withstand her weight. Maxson and Blue were across the table from each other, and their advisors and other respected individuals were at their sides. Haylen and Piper were confined to the side of the proceedings. Piper wondered if there was a metaphor buried there that described the relationship of world leaders and the press, but decided that there was no point in thinking too hard about it.

Blue reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigar. He reached into his pocket again, and pulled out a cutting piece, a lighter, and a second cigar. He looked at Maxson.

"Would you-"

"I don't smoke." Maxson said coldly.

Blue shrugged, and pocketed the second cigar. It took him a few moments to light up his own cigar, and within moments he started to puff away. Maxson wrinkled his nose in distaste, but said nothing. With that, Maxson took his turn to speak.

"My Proctor Quinlan here has compiled a list of our conditions for there to be peace in the Commonwealth. For the sake of cost effectiveness, he's written them down onto a sheet of paper. Holopads are expensive, and we didn't want to waste anything." He gestured to Quinlan to hand over the document to Blue. "I will give you a moment to read the document, and then we can discuss moving forward."

Blue took the sheet of paper, and started to read it. He was a swift reader, and within mere minutes he'd read the whole thing. He then looked up at Arthur Maxson.

"This is your offer?"

"Yes." Maxson said. He folded his arms across his chest. "Are there any issues?"

Blue sighed, and let out a puff of smoke. And then he spoke.

"It's a very direct piece of writing, that's for sure. Who wrote it?"

"Does it matter?" Maxson asked irritably. From his body language, it was clear that he was getting annoyed that Blue hadn't just immediately signed the paper.

"Well, regardless, it's a compelling argument." Blue said. "So here's my counter-proposal."

That was when Piper realized that he had been holding the sheet of paper awfully close to his cigar.

Blue let the burning tip of his cigar touch the offer, and within moments it caught on fire. Some of the others in the room gave a cry of surprise, and Blue let go of the sheet of paper. The fire carried it up into the air, where it slowly burned away into ash until there was nothing left.

There was dead silence in the room. Maxson looked red.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He said in a deathly quiet tone. He didn't raise his voice, but he was doing that little bit where someone got so angry that they lowered their voice and over-anunciated every syllable. Blue looked undisturbed.

"I've called your bluff, Arthur." Blue said. "If you weren't going to take this entire thing seriously, then why should I?"

"So you're throwing away your best chance at peace because of some principle?" Maxson asked. "Do you seriously want a war?"

"Do you?" Blue replied.

Piper felt her heart beating against her chest. What the fuck was Blue _doing?_ It was the first few moments of the entire conference and he was already going to fuck it up?

"You should not tempt me." Maxson said. "I could rain down nuclear fire the likes of which have never been seen in hundreds of years." Never once had he raised his voice. "I am _not_ someone to be treated lightly!"

"Neither am I." Blue said.

"You have not the experience that I do." Maxson snarled.

"And yet in less than a year's time I've raised an army that did what you did not: I destroyed the Institute." Blue said.

Maxson said nothing. He was seething. Blue then continued.

"You say that you can rain down nuclear fire the likes of which haven't been seen in hundreds of years." Blue said. "First of all, I doubt that. I saw what _one_ bomb did to Boston hundreds of years ago, and I doubt that Liberty Prime has that payload. But I'll play along. You have firepower. _So do I._ "

That last statement hung over the room like a radstorm cloud. Maxson's eyes narrowed.

"What are you saying?" He asked.

"You have nukes as your trump card." Blue said. "That is a pretty good trump card. So I'll play mine: I can destroy the Prydwen."

A very visible look of uncertainty passed through the eyes of Proctor Ingram and Quinlan. Maxson snorted.

"And how would you do that?"

"Every settlement in the Commonwealth under Minutemen control has constructed artillery emplacements that are capable of crisscrossing the entire area." Blue said. "And as we speak, every last one of them is lining up and pointing at the Prydwen. And here's the thing about kinetic energy: a shell like the ones they're packing? It wouldn't take a rain of shells to bring that ship down. All it would take…is _one._ " He puffed on his cigar again.

There was silence.

"I came here because I wanted peace." Blue said. "And I know that you want to avoid unnecessary war as well. But if you aren't going to come to these talks in good faith, then we're wasting our time. And instead of talking we should be prepared to fight. But in the time that it will take to fire up Liberty Prime, I can unleash a rain of artillery fire on the Prydwen. We're at an impasse, Arthur." He paused. "Of mutually assured destruction."

He took another puff on his cigar.

"I don't want to see another war rip apart the Commonwealth. I saw what that was like hundreds of years ago." Blue said. "I want peace. And you want peace. So why don't you spend a day in this city, maybe more if you need it, to draw up a good faith negotiations list. I can wait. And you can wait. This is something that we need to do right, or not at all. So what do you say?"

The silence lasted an eternity. Piper wondered what the hell was going to happen. And then Maxson broke the silence.

"…Very well. We will reconvene in three days' time." He said. "And where, may I ask, shall myself and my advisors be quartered?"

"You and your officers can stay in the Upper Boxes." Blue said. "They will be very accommodating to you, I am sure."

Piper did everything in her power to not start laughing.

"I see." Elder Maxson said. "Very well. We shall meet in three days' time." He stood up, and the others got ready to go. "But one more thing."

Blue nodded, giving Maxson the permission to continue.

"I don't like being played for a fool." Maxson said. "I will allow this sort of brinksmanship because I am a man of reason, and I can see your argument. We have come to agreements in the past. But if you try to pull this sort of subterfuge on me again, or if you threaten my people aboard the Prydwen again…I will cut you into little dog treats."

Piper gazed over at Blue to see his reaction. And it was terrifying. Not because he looked like he'd lost his nerve.

But because he looked utterly bored by the threat.

A/N: It was really, _really_ fun writing Maxson to be as big a disdainful dick as I could. Perhaps I had a little bit too much fun. And Blue really has balls of steel, doesn't he?

See you next time.


	4. Ebbs and Flows

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Piper couldn't sit still. They were out in the town square, and even though she was sitting at Takahashi's noodle shop in one of the stools, she kept drumming her fingers on her thigh or on the counter. She stopped doing the latter, because the poor robot thought that she was signaling that she wanted more noodles. There was a bowl of them in front of her, and yet she wasn't hungry. Meanwhile, Blue was sitting right next to her, slowly enjoying his own bowl. Hancock was sitting next to Blue, and was rather obnoxiously slurping his.

"Could you not do that, Hancock?" Piper asked. "It's distracting me."

"From what? Frittering away the day?" Hancock asked. "If you're asking me, you're wound too tight. I have something for that, you know-"

"For the _last time,_ Hancock, I'm _not interested_ in taking Jet. Even if you think it would be totally rad to get stoned with me." Piper said testily. She had her notebook out in front of her, and yet so far anything that she'd written was a mess of stream-of-consciousness or nonsense. The ending of that "meeting," if you could call it that, had utterly fried her nerves. In one moment, and in one threat, Piper believed every story that she'd heard about the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. The fact that Blue hadn't pissed his pants at the thought of getting cut up by the Brotherhood implied that either Blue wasn't really listening, was high, or really was a lot tougher than she thought. And considering that she knew him the best out of the entire group of friends he'd made in his travels (at least she thought so. He'd brought her along with him for the majority of his missions but _not_ on the mission to destroy the Institute. That kind of bothered her), the fact that she didn't know everything about him was kind of creepy.

"What?" Hancock asked. "You know that you want to." He said with a little grin, and reached for one of the syringes in his bag.

"Hancock, stop peer pressuring Piper." Blue said, not even looking up from his bowl of noodles. Hancock cackled.

"Fine, fine. If you say so." He said. He looked over at Blue and grinned. "Considering that shit you pulled on Maxson, I have to listen to everything you say for at least a day. No questions asked."

"Don't make promises you'll regret." Blue said, still not looking up from his noodles but a small smirk forming on his lips. He then turned over to look at Piper. "You okay, Piper? You're a little jittery."

"Blue, don't." Piper said. "Because you and I know exactly how this is gonna go. I'm gonna say that I'm not nervous, and then I'll spend some time babbling about how I'm not nervous. And then you're just gonna say that I'm nervous and then I'll crack and admit that I'm utterly shocked that you had the balls to tell Maxson to take his 'offer' and shove it and somehow by some unseen deity he _listened_ to you and yet that doesn't change much because now we've got another three days before you meet again and I don't know if anything has changed and somehow _you're still not nervous_!" She finished, panting.

Hancock and Blue were both staring at her, and then they looked at each other in unison.

"I can't believe she said that all in one breath." Hancock finally said.

"Uggggggh!" Piper threw her hands in her face, and buried her face on the counter. "Couldn't you two take this at _least_ a little bit seriously?"

"Piper."

Piper looked up at Blue. He was not smiling. He was staring directly into her eyes, and his voice was both reassuring and commanding at the same time.

"Don't confuse not worrying with not caring." He finally said.

Somehow those words were reassuring to her, despite the fact that nothing had changed about the status of the Brotherhood and the Minutemen that were squatting in Diamond City.

…

"Well, it's been a while since we've seen Ghouls in Diamond City. And I'd know. I've been here a while."

Piper swiveled around in her seat towards the sound of that voice, and her expression lit up.

"Nicky!"

She practically bounced off of the stool and gave the aging Synth detective a hug. Nick Valentine chuckled, and returned the gesture.

"Careful, Piper. Any more intimate and Ellie here will start to think that I've got a girlfriend." He said. His assistant detective, Ellie Perkins, gave a little wave to the rest of the group.

"Ellie? I didn't think you ever left the agency." Piper said with a smirk.

"Please. Someone had to babysit Nat when you were off getting shot at in the name of 'news.'" Ellie said, a smile on her face. Piper chuckled.

"Oh ho ho. That is _uncool,_ El."

"Ladies, please." Nick said warmly. "I know that you two practice your rapier wit with one another but be careful you don't skewer the rest of us." He turned to face Blue. "Nice to see you around, Boss. I heard through the grapevine that you called the Brotherhood's bluff. Normally I'd say that I'm surprised but…I'm really not, considering who I'm talking to."

Blue's grin was the biggest Piper had seen in a while.

"How are you doing, you old Clockwork Dick?" Blue asked, extending his hand forward.

"It's Synth Detective, jackass." Nick said, but with no venom in his voice as he shook Blue's hand. "And I'm doing fine. You'd think that the private detective business would take a hit in the aftermath of the Institute going up in smoke but…" He trailed off.

"We're getting inundated with requests that Nick look through the wreckage." Ellie said. "To find signs of lost loved ones."

Blue's smile faded.

"I'm sorry, Nick."

"Don't be." Nick said. "You weren't the one kidnapping people, and there's no other way to get rid of the Institute than to get rid of the Institute. And I'm a Synth. I can handle radiation just fine. The levels aren't too bad, despite the fact that you set off a nuke in the middle of the place."

There was a sorrowful silence. Even Hancock took off his hat as a sort of respect for the thankless job Nick was being asked.

"If you need help…" Blue began.

"I know what you're going to offer." Nick said, holding up a hand. "And right now I don't trust the Minutemen's power armor to hold up in that level of radiation. Give it a few weeks, and I'll see what a Geiger comes up with. And then I'll take the backup. But right now I can handle it."

"Nicky…" Ellie said.

"Ellie, compared to some of the cases we've dealt with in the past, this is child's play." He said. "A whole lot more melancholy than most cases, but not necessarily more dangerous."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, clearly to change the topic of conversation.

"So I hear that ol' Arthur Maxson isn't a fan of your stogies?" Nick asked.

"Now who told you that?" Blue asked with a grin on his face, clearly already aware of the answer. Nick grinned.

"Let's just say that she never pipes down."

" _Hey!_ " Piper said. "I'm standing right here!"

"Why, yes you are." Ellie said, a grin on her face.

"Damn it, Ellie!"

…

Their reunion was broken up by the realization that the surrounding area had gotten silent. They looked to see what was causing people to go quiet, and then saw the source. Proctor Quinlan was walking through the town square, studiously looking at different places and structures and taking copious notes in his little pad. Eventually, he reached the noodle stand. He looked at the robot, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

"Excuse me, what do you serve?" He asked.

" _Nan-ni shimasho-ka?_ " Takahashi replied.

That threw the normally stoic Quinlan for a loop. He blinked once, andthen scribbled something down in his notepad.

"I see." He said. "Do you speak English?"

" _Nan-ni shimasho-ka_?"

"Just say 'yes.'" Nick said. "He's asking if you want a bowl of noodles."

"Oh, I see." Quinlan said, not looking at Nick. "Then yes, I'd like a bowl please. Prepare it extra spicy, if you could." He started to turn towards Nick. "Thank you for your transla-" He stopped cold as he got the sight of Nick Valentine.

"Oh boy…" Hancock said.

Proctor Quinlan blinked once, and then titled his head to the side, in a manner similar to Dogmeat when the dog was confused about something. He walked forward hesitantly, and then reached out and touched Nick's cheek. He drew his hand back swiftly, and started scribbling furiously in his notepad.

"At least buy me dinner first." Nick snarked. This seemed to jolt the Proctor out of his scientific marveling.

"Oh! Sorry, my manners." He said. "It's just…you're so _lifelike!_ "

"You don't say." Nick said, thoroughly unimpressed with what amounted to an apology from the Proctor. Quinlan seemed to realize that he was digging himself deeper, so he verbally backpedalled.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you are clearly a Synth, and yet you display clear signs of necrosis in your tissue. No one could mistake you for being a Synth infiltrator, and yet no one could deny that you're a Synth. It's…it's fascinating." He continued to scribble away.

"Is this guy for real?" Piper whispered in Blue's ear. He just shrugged.

Quinlan finished his writing, and then compared his notes.

"Apologies for the brusque manner, Synth. I'm just not used to seeing a Synth that seems to have the emotional mimickry of humans and yet a physical shell similar to the Gen IIs. You don't look like a Gen III. What are you? Somewhere in between?"

"That's a safe bet." Nick said. Proctor Quinlan nodded.

"And how were your memories implanted?" He asked.

"I have the memories of a pre-war cop named Nick Valentine." Nick said. "So that's my name."

At this, Proctor Quinlan looked positively gobsmacked.

"Your brain waves are copied from a pre-war individual?" He asked. "So…you mean…"

"If you're asking if I remember the world before the war, then the answer is yes and no." Nick said. He jerked a thumb towards Blue. "He's your best bet for non-disjointed memories. But…I remember certain things. I suppose I have a bit more of a blue-collar memory than Mr. White Collar over here." He said. Blue frowned.

"I am _not_ White Collar." Blue said. Nick looked at him and winked.

"And I'm not a Clockwork Dick."

Proctor Quinlan looked blown away.

"So, Mr. Syn-I mean, Mr. Nick. You have memories of pre-war world stored in your brain waves?" He said. "I don't suppose that you'd be willing-"

"If you have questions I'll do the best I can to answer them." Nick said. "Though I wouldn't expect much." He then gestured to Ellie. "If you want to talk but don't want your boss to find out you're potentially palling with a Synth, then you can talk to Ellie here. She's my assistant and my secretary, and she keeps my appointments."

Proctor Quinlan nodded, and turned to Ellie. He cleared his throat.

"I can pay well." He said. Ellie shrugged.

"I just schedule. Nick charges rates."

"Well…I don't suppose…later tonight, perhaps?" Proctor Quinlan asked. "After dark?"

"Not exactly subtle." Nick said. "It makes me sound like your mistress."

Piper would always cherish the scandalized look on the Proctor's face as he realized Nick was suggesting he'd have an affair with a Synth.

"Nine P.M. is the best." Ellie said. "I'll make some coffee, because I feel like you two might be at it a while."

"Thank you. That's wonderful." Proctor Quinlan said. "I do appreciate your willingness to talk, Mr. Nick." He said.

" _Nan-ni shimasho-ka?_ "

"Oh!" Proctor Quinlan said. "Those are my noodles. I'd better get them and be going." He paid for the food, said a brusque goodbye, and then walked back towards the lift that took one to the Upper Boxes. The others watched him go.

"What a strange old man." Ellie said.

"He's a scientist, Ellie." Nick said. "They tend to be a bit lacking in the humanity department."

…

" _Travis Lonely Miles here, checking in from Diamond City Radio. Man…gotta say…it's a helluva time to be alive! We've got all sorts of reports coming in about the craziness that's surrounding our fine little city. The Minutemen and their General? The Brotherhood of Steel? Elder Maxson? Who knows what's going on? All I know is, heh, we're in for a pretty interesting couple of weeks ahead of us. And I know that lil' Miss Piper Wright and the Publick Occurrences are gonna be right on top of things throughout this whole 'treaty' or whatever it ends up being. Be sure to stop by and say hello! And buy a paper, because this is a pretty big deal. The Brotherhood and the Minutemen are here and it looks like they're here to stay! So let's hope their decision-making is on point! Here's a little song of motivation for them._ "

Piper rolled her eyes as the mournful crooning of "I Don't Want to Set The World on Fire" drifted in through her cramped little flat. Nat was already sound asleep in her mattress under the stairs, and Piper was sitting at her desk, scribbling away on the sheets of paper that would be the "master" copy of the newest edition of the _Publick Occurrences._ She loved Travis like a brother, but that ringing endorsement of his meant that there would be a rush for the paper tomorrow, and she'd better be ready for the whole thing. So it was a late night in the cards for her.

The door knocked gently.

"Come in." Piper said.

The door opened, and she turned around to see who'd entered. She smiled tiredly.

"Can't sleep?"

"You know me, I'm a regular insomniac." Blue said, taking off his General's coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. He took a seat on the couch on the other side of the room. He checked his Pip-Boy. "I have fifteen after ten, so you've got about two more hours of relaxed work before you start panicking." He said with a little grin. Piper rolled her eyes.

"Asshole." She said, and continued to scribble some more copy. She saw that Blue was writing something of his own, and then turned to look at her. "What are you doing over there?" She asked.

"Writing a letter back to the Castle." Blue said. "I'll be sending a runner at the crack of dawn. With luck it'll get to Danse at about noon. And knowing his punctuality, he'll have an evening runner sent back by six. So I'll probably get his response the following morning."

"That's putting an awful lot of faith in your runner, Blue." Piper said.

"I'm having Chibs do it."

"Oh, then never mind." Piper said. Chibs was one of the oldest Minutemen volunteers in the entire organization, with white hair and a wispy beard and wrinkled bronze skin. He wasn't much of a fighter, and he didn't say much. But he was the fastest runner in the entire Minutemen organization, and was the most elusive too. He'd once made a back-and-forth trip between Quincy and the Castle _twice_ in one day, and only had to be treated for blisters on his feet. Blue depended on no more for his correspondence delivery than the grizzled old runner.

"Are you sure you made the right call?" Piper asked.

"You're talking about Danse." Blue said. Piper sighed, and swiveled around in her chair to better face Blue.

"I know that you've seen a lot of combat together, but…I dunno." She sighed. "Danse isn't exactly a popular guy. And that was _before_ we found out what he really was." She then frowned. "And while we're on that topic, why hasn't he softened up since discovering the truth about who he is? He's a Synth, he should be a little bit more sympathetic and yet he's so damned blunt around Curie. Curie is a _sweetheart_ , and anyone that doesn't like her is a real shit."

"Danse spent what he believed to be his entire life fighting for the Brotherhood." Blue said. "That sort of devotion isn't going to disappear because he discovered the truth. At least not right away."

"So why did you put him in charge of the Castle?" Piper asked. Blue just looked at her.

"Where would he be if I didn't give him something to do?" Blue asked.

Piper was about to speak up, and then she stopped. Blue had a point. Prior to his return to the Castle, Danse was apparently planning to spend the rest of his life in that listening post. In completel isolation. All because Arthur Maxson couldn't stand the fact that he was a synthetic copy of life. And yet time and again Blue trusted Danse with his life. Could that really be the sign of artificial life and friendship? She didn't believe it, but then why did Danse make it so hard by being such a dick?

"He'd be alone." Piper finally said.

"Danse is adrift right now." Blue said. "He only just recently found out that everything about him is a lie, and that he doesn't even know who he _is._ And if I hadn't brought him back to the Castle, he would be left alone in that bunker to think for the rest of his life. By himself. I was in that vault for over 200 years, 60 of them by myself. I was lucky, Piper. I was frozen. Imagine spending years with nothing but your own betrayed thoughts."

"So you're giving him a job to keep him from thinking about it all?"

"That…and Danse is a good managerial fellow." Blue said. "He kept the Cambridge station operating on a shoestring for a very long time before the Prydwen came to the Commonwealth. The Castle is in much better condition than the police station was: he's got a lot more resources to work with."

"Do you have a plan for everything?" Piper asked, smirking slightly. Blue just chuckled, and finished writing his letter.

"I just never stop to think about that." Blue said.

"Good grief." Piper said. "You make it up as you go, don't you?"

"Something like that." Blue said with a wink. Piper chuckled, and got back to scribbling some more copy. After a few minutes of silence, she looked over at him.

"Hey, where are you staying?"

"I haven't gotten around to that yet." Blue said. "I made sure that everyone else got themselves a room at the Dugout or elsewhere. I was thinking that I might stay in the schoolhouse. Zwicky and his wife were willing to give me the couch."

"Oh, Blue." Piper said, making a face. "You don't need to do that. And Zwicky and Edna are up all night anyway grading papers and the like. They're not much for excitement, you know."

"I'm not always looking for excitement, you know." Blue said with a smirk, as he pulled out a bottle of Nuka Cherry and popped the cap off.

"Yeah, but it finds you anyway. And I know that Zwicky and Edna aren't exactly the type to enjoy excitement in their lives." Piper said. "So, uh. I have a better idea." She said, and Blue turned to look at her. "Why not stay at the _Publick?_ " She asked.

There was silence.

"I, I mean you don't have to if you don't want to, because I know that Nat gets up early and likes to play the radio at full blast. And I'm sure that violates all sorts of press conflicts of interest to be housing one of the leaders of these negotiations, but at the same time I know that you aren't the kind of person to just start blabbing things or influencing me or anything like that. So, um, yeah. You know what? Forget I said anything. It was stupid."

"That'd be lovely, Piper."

"I'll go tell Zwicky and Edna you'll be ove-wait, what?" Piper asked. Blue laughed at the expression on her face.

"I said thank you for the willingness to host me. I'd be honored. I'll just sleep out here on the couch. Wouldn't want people to get any ideas, you know."

At this, Piper tried to ignore the fact that her face felt like it was on fire.

"Oh! Right. Of course. Wouldn't want to do anything, I mean cause any suspicion. Right. So, um, great!" Piper said. "I have to get back to work. You don't mind do you?"

Blue chuckled.

"Not at all."

Piper nodded, and hesitantly got back to work. But she found herself somewhat distracted by the quiet presence in the room that was currently sitting on her couch and fiddling with his Pip-Boy.

…

Miles away from the jewel of the Commonwealth, the Castle was beginning its daily rotation of the guard as the moon rose high in the night sky. Cait stifled a yawn.

"Agh. Where the fuck is me relief?" She muttered.

"You've only been on duty for an hour, Cait."

"Fuck off, Danse." Cait growled, racking her shotgun in annoyance. "You don't have ta remind me, ya know."

"Seeing as how you've been complaining the entire time since the General left, I think that I do need to remind you. One of us is going to give in, and it isn't going to be me."

Cait just flipped him off. Danse shook his head.

"Have it your way. Just keep a steady watch and you'll be fine." He gestured in front of the red-headed woman. "Besides, you're on duty facing the ocean. Barring a revelation that the Institute has a submarine like the Yangzte, I think you're going to have an easy job tonight."

"Yeah, fuck off."

"Good night to you too, Cait." Danse said. He walked up the steps of the battlements, and walked through the defense fortifications. He took a mental note of the construction going on in the center of the Castle: the General had ordered a rather ambitious project to build layered levels out in the open, to create a sort of tower-like apparatus in the Castle. Blue had come up with the idea over at Hangman's Alley, and the initiative was so successful that the "floors" built by the settlers over there stretched so high that they actually got above the buildings that Hangman's Alley was already wedged into. Danse was impressed with the resourcefulness of the people in the Commonwealth, more and more by the day.

He stared out over the water, and found his eyes wandering off to the left. He sighed as he made eye contact with the Prydwen. For a moment, he wondered whether they'd incinerated all of his personal effects upon discovery of his synthetic nature. He hadn't even had time to grab his favorite book. And he was sure that they'd given his old Paladin's armor to someone else in the ranks. Someone that didn't have the unfortunate stigma of being a Synth. He wondered if it was Knight Rhys that got the promotion. Rhys was exactly what the Brotherhood wanted: unflinching and uncompromising in his devotion to the Code and the Codex. Danse also wondered how Scribe Haylen was doing. He wondered if she was ok. He hoped nothing had come to her because she'd helped him.

He then was interrupted from his reverie by the sound of movement next to him. He looked down and saw the boy sitting on the battlement, his feet dangling off the ramparts and over the waters below. Danse raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" He asked.

"I can't sleep." Shaun said.

"Is the construction too loud?" Danse asked. "I will notify Curie and Colonel Shaw to tone down the intensity of construction during the nigh-"

"That's not it." Shaun said. He sighed. "I had another nightmare."

Danse raised an eyebrow.

"This has happened more than once?"

"Yeah." Shaun said. "I don't tell Dad because I don't want him to worry."

Danse didn't know what to do. He didn't have any children of his own. He wasn't sure that Synths could even _have_ children. But he figured that it would be unwise to let the kid just sit there. So he took a seat next to the young boy.

"Your father loves you. He'd want to know if he could help you."

"I don't know if he'd understand my dreams." Shaun said. Danse smirked.

"Well, Shaun, you can tell me for practice. I promise I won't tell anyone else."

Shaun looked at him suspiciously.

"You promise?"

Danse stared at Shaun, and then his eyes drifted to the Prydwen. And then he sighed took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"You give your word?" Shaun asked. "Isn't that what men do?"

The breath hitched in Danse's chest. But then he felt a sort of resolution in him that he hadn't for a while. And he spoke again.

"I give my word as a man. I won't tell anyone."

Shaun smiled, and Danse felt a little bit better.

A/N: I love Piper's tendency to get flustered in the game, so I decided to work it a little bit so that whenever she's stressed she doesn't. Shut. UP. I guess you could say…she has a real Gift for gab…

And Shaun and Danse bonding, because why not?


	5. Icebreaker

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Piper took a deep breath. They were in the mayor's office once again, and this time there was an even more palpable tension in the air than from the very first day. She was glad that she was sitting off to the side of the proceedings: well within earshot yet out of the line of sight of the major players. That Brotherhood Scribe…what was her name? Haden? Haylen? Yeah, that was it. Scribe Haylen was sitting right next to her, with her own notebook and writing utensils out as well. She had given Piper a kind smile when they'd both walked into the room, so she couldn't be all that bad. Though, then again, sometimes the sweetest of places were often the most dangerous. Piper had plenty of memories of Covenant that she'd like to forget.

"I'd prefer to get things moving, instead of whatever ridiculous posturing we spent on the first day." Elder Maxson spoke, getting everyone's attention. They'd been at it for a few hours, mostly discussing whatever information of the day that was relevant to both sides and yet completetly inconsequential to the peace talks at hand. In other words, the safe stuff that would not make anyone made. "So, for the sake of _progress,_ I would prefer that we actually start talking about the Commonwealth's future. Specifically, the Institute."

"What is there to talk about?" Hancock asked. "It's a crater right now."

"I was not talking to _you._ " Maxson said, positively sneering at the Ghoul. At this, Hancock took great offense.

"What are you suggesting? That because I'm not a smoothskin like you, I'm not prone to rational decisions? That I'm a few moments away from going feral? Is that what you think?" The Ghoul growled.

"It is always a possibility." Proctor Quinlan said. Piper knew that he was speaking in the manner of a scientist: from a technical standpoint, he was absolutely correct. Ghouls _did_ eventually go feral after a certain point…but that was only if they were exposed to high levels of radiation. Otherwise, there were plenty of cases where they were able to live a very long life without the fear of going feral.

However, this was not a laboratory, but a social setting. And that was probably not the best thing to say.

"Are you kidding me?" Hancock growled. Piper saw him reaching under the desk, and she paled. Hancock wasn't nearly crazy enough to draw-

"Mayor Hancock, settle down." Blue said calmly. "Proctor Quinlan was speaking in general scientific speculation. He was not making a speculation on your case." At this, Blue turned to Proctor Quinlan. "I'd recommend that you be careful with your words, Proctor. Not everyone can be on the same scientific wavelength as you."

"And _I'd_ recommend that you watch your tongue in speaking to Proctor Quinlan." Elder Maxson fired back. "He is a critical element of the Brotherhood, and I will not tolerate abusive language towards him."

"Just as I will not tolerate abusive language towards the mayor of Goodneighbor."

"How is it that a Ghoul is the current mayor of a city?" Maxson asked. "That is something that I am simply _dying_ to know."

"Then perhaps let's make that the focus of today's talks." Blue said. "Goodneighbor, Hancock, and Ghouls in the Commonwealth." He turned towards Hancock. "You have any objections to that?"

Hancock was still glowering at Quinlan, who was trying his best to disappear, but he shook his head.

"No objections, chief."

"See?" Blue said, gesturing to Hancock. "My friend here can be reasonable."

"The outfit is a bit…gauche." Proctor Ingram said. "If you don't mind me asking…Hancock, where did you get it?" There was a certain hesitance in the woman's words as she said the Ghoul's name, and it did not go unnoticed by Piper. Hancock shrugged.

"It's the duds of an old American hero." He said.

"So you stole historical property?" Maxson asked accusatorily. Hancock smirked.

"Stealing is such an ugly word. I found it, no one was going to use it and the Muties were probably gonna raze the place anyway. And John Hancock isn't someone who deserves to get forgotten by the blood-stained pages of history, y'know what I'm saying?"

"I am unfamiliar with John Hancock." Maxson said, with a stone-cutting glare. Hancock actually chuckled.

"Seriously? He was one of America's Founding Fathers." He gestured over to Blue. "Tell this flyboy who John Hancock was."

Everyone seemed a little bit concerned at how Maxson would react to the flippant way Hancock had addressed the Brotherhood Elder. But Maxson made no sign that he was displeased. If anything, Piper thought she saw a little appreciative glint in the man's eye, even if he did not smile. He was clearly proud of that furry jacket he was wearing, and the fact that Hancock had noticed it clearly impressed him.

Blue cleared his throat.

"John Hancock was one of the Founding Fathers. A tireless worker, not necessarily the biggest piece of the puzzle, and very proud of himself and flamboyant."

"That describes yours truly to a tee." Hancock said. "Look, Maxson. I get where you're coming from: ferals are the scum of the earth, and they contribute nothing to society but sleepless nights. But there are a hell of a lot of people who still have their brains that don't appreciate being lumped into the same category." He glowered. "Myself included."

Maxson was silent for a few moments. Once again, Piper was drawn to the incredibly stern look etched across the man's face. Finally, he spoke.

"Let us assume that I am willing to listen to…Hancock's arguments. Where is the proof that I can trust? How can I know for certain that the atmosphere of Goodneighbor is better off with a Ghoul in leadership?" He asked. There was a measured tone in his voice.

"What exactly are you looking for, perfect peace?" Hancock grunted. "There's no such thing in the Commonwealth, and you know that. But I can tell you for certain that I'm a damn sight better at this job than the last guy was."

"Was he voted out of office?" Proctor Ingram asked. Hancock shrugged.

"In a manner of speaking." He said.

Piper tried not to smile.

"Are you looking for specific statistics to track?" Blue spoke up, after a few moments to gather his thoughts. "Because while crime is difficult to keep track of, I'm sure there are other ways to prove that Goodneighbor is a prosperous community."

"Such as?" Maxson asked.

"The business side." Hancock said, sensing what Blue was getting at. "You mugs might not like mine, but even you can understand the flow of caps, right? I tell you, outside of Diamond City, Goodneighbor is the most prosperous hub in the Commonwealth." Hancock smirked. "Look, there's no reason that we can't help each other here. Goodneighbor has good gun stores and lodging for people. There's no shortage of space. And…it's pretty close to your base of operations, isn't it?"

Those last words hung over the air of the room. Maxson leered at Hancock.

"What are you suggesting?" He asked.

"You've been trying to establish a presence in the Commonwealth for some time now." Blue said. "And yet as we speak the only settlements you've come across are the Boston Airport and the Prydwen. If you were looking to expand out further, then Goodneighbor is relatively close."

"Yeah…" Hancock said. "Yeah, I can dig it. Goodneighbor isn't lacking for guns and defense, but to have a couple of your tin cans walking around with those big badass guns of yours? Some of the less-able people in the city might be better able to sleep at night. I know I would."

"This is a rather sharp turn." Maxson said. "Just a few moments ago, you were getting worked up over a perceived slight towards you…Hancock."

Piper noticed that it still seemed to be difficult for the man to verbalize the Ghoul's name as if that was his proper identifier, and not just "Ghoul." She wondered how he was able to go to the bathroom, with that stick wedged so tightly up his-

"And yet now you're offering to let Brotherhood operations open up in Goodneighbor." Elder Maxson continued, distracting the reporter from her inner thoughts. "That's a fairly generous offer…but why would I be willing to accept it? What's in it for me?"

Hancock grinned, and cracked his knuckles reflexively. To be perfectly honest, Piper was surprised that the things could still crack.

"Think about it, Maxie." He said. Even Blue had to blink in surprise at the flippant way that Hancock was referring to the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. Even Proctor Ingram seemed stunned. Piper internally groaned. This was, quite possibly, the _worst_ time for Hancock to start tripping on whatever the hell it was that he had taken earlier this morning. But there was no stopping the Ghoul now. He was in the middle of one of his best sales pitches.

Maxson, to his credit, was not visibly disturbed. He was instead listening intently to what the Ghoul was saying, resting his head on his knuckles, his mouth obscured. He was staring intently, but he was not glaring. It was a subtle difference, but Piper noticed it all the same. "You've got yourself some great apartments in the edges of the place, as well as an easier route to Bunker Hill instead of having to swing around to the north and then across the bridge. You're likely to run into Deathclaws if you keep running north and then back down. Take it from a guy that's been up and down that area of the Commonwealth too many times: you're gonna lose too many men on the journey just trying to get around the Deathclaws."

"Go on." Maxson said. It was an incredible admission. Piper could scarcely believe her eyes. She knew that Hancock was a bit of a sweet-talker. That was one of his best abilities, and while she might have a gift for gab it was clear that Hancock was very able at getting people to listen to him. He'd been put in as mayor of Goodneighbor for a reason, after all.

"Glad you're seeing things my way." Hancock grinned. "And think about it this way. Goodneighbor is right in the center of the action. You're looking for ways to get your Brotherhood boys and girls some battle action here in the Commonwealth, right?" He took the Elder's silence as a motion to continue. "Goodneighbor's a stone's throw from Trinity Tower and Trinity Plaza. The Muties _own_ that shit. It'd be awfully nice target practice for some of your more long-distance soldiers, know what I mean? And plenty of strung-out raiders that would be great practice against some of your less-tested soldiers. You get some experience for your people, and we get to sleep a little bit at night."

"So you're offering us potential stationing in Goodneighbor." Maxson said. "In addition to that, you're suggesting that you will get peace of mind in exchange for the Brotherhood using the trade routes from Bunker Hill and target practice against those scum Super Mutants." He folded his arms across his chest. "That's quite a generous offer. You haven't even suggested that we pay rent."

"I'm shit with numbers. I figure that Chief here or your tech wiz can come up with a suitable exchange rate with the farmers and traders and all that." Hancock said. "I'm just a facilitator."

"It would be nice to have another place to park our Vertibirds other than just on the Prydwen and in the airport." Proctor Ingram admitted. Elder Maxson shot her a glare for breaking party rank, but there was not nearly the malice that he could have put into it. He turned back to Hancock.

"Fair enough. But I get the feeling that there is more that you want us to concede to." Maxson said. "Just out with it."

"Fine. Since you're the direct type and all that." Hancock said, steepling his fingers together. "I want Ghoul emancipation."

There was dead silence. Maxson looked like he'd taken a bite of some bad Mutfruit.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"I'm not asking for much." Hancock said. "I just want an assurance that your people treat Ghouls like me – you know, the ones that can talk, think, and contribute to the community – like regular human beings."

Maxson looked like he'd been told to shave off his beard.

"How can I trust that you won't go feral over time?" Maxson said.

"That's misinformation and you know it." Hancock growled. "Ask your egghead over there. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that us Ghouls can live as long-contributing members of society and that we won't go feral. Feral Ghouls and plain ol' Ghouls are like comparing Mutfruit with Deathclaws: there is no comparison and it hurts my head to even consider it."

There is silence. And then Maxson speaks.

"And what if I say no? What if I say I don't buy that?" Maxson asked.

"Then we're back to square one." Blue said. "We stand here measuring our dicks and when it comes down to it, you have to believe that you can get Liberty Prime fired up before I can put one shot in the Prydwen. Is that a bet you want to make?"

There is silence again.

"It's not like we're asking for acceptance into your military." Hancock said, a frown on his face. "Because most of us Ghouls are shit fighters. We're just asking that we be able to go about our day in peace without the worry that you metalheads are gonna shoot us because we looked at you funny."

"Good, because there are no Ghouls in the Brotherhood armed forces." Maxson said. "But as for the rest of your proposal…" He tapped his chin with his finger. "…We shall consider it." He looked at Blue. "We've been at this for a while. I propose a recess. We'll convene at a later time. I will send a messenger to your place of residence." Maxson said to Blue. "To where shall I send them?"

"The _Publick Occurences._ " Blue said, and Piper tried to hide her blush. "I'll be there all night."

"Good. If that's everything, then?" Maxson asked. Blue nodded, and with that the Brotherhood delegation took their lead. Scribe Haylen gave Piper a pleasant little wave, and then followed the rest of the group out the door. As soon as they were gone, Hancock turned towards Blue.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything more, Chief? I was left hanging out there!"

"If I'd spoken for you, then Maxson would have even less belief in your credibility." Blue said, taking a sip from his bottle of Gwinnett Stout. "But as it stands, you, a Ghoul, managed to talk the Brotherhood of Steel Elder to a standstill." He took another pull from his beer, and looked at the mayor of Goodneighbor. "That's not an easy task, even for someone like me."

"But he didn't even agree to anything!" Hancock grumbled.

"No. But he said that he'd think about it. That's the first step." Blue said. "You might not release it, because you weren't on the Prydwen with me, but Arthur Maxson is _very_ assured in his beliefs. Getting him to even consider another opinion on a subject is tantamount to a miracle, Hancock."

"What makes you say that?" Hancock asked, though he was no longer as belligerent.

Blue's response sent a cold shiver down Piper's gut.

"Because if he wasn't capable of seeing another person's opinion, then he would have had Danse killed."

...

"Oh, _Monsieur_ Danse, do you have a moment?"

Danse looked up from his desk. Well, really it wasn't his desk but the General's desk, but as long as he was the acting leader of the Castle he supposed that he could allow himself the creature comfort of calling it his desk. He just made sure not to let the power go to his head. But he shook his head from his thoughts and stared at the Synth in the doorway. Curie was dressed in typical rancher clothing: that flannel shirt and faded blue jeans that she loved so much.

"What is it, Curie?" He asked, somewhat brusquely. The twinkle in Curie's eyes faded a bit, and for the first time Danse felt like he was in the wrong for being so terse with her. So he tried again. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of writing a letter."

"Oh, a letter? How wonderfully whimsical!" Curie said, walking over to the desk. "What are you writing about?"

"It's for the General." Danse said, in a tone that he hoped would keep her from peeking. He _hated_ when people spied on him and his work. "Professional Minutemen business."

"Ah, I see." Curie said. "Well, if you are not too busy, the others are gathered up on the ramparts for dinner, and I was wondering if you would join us?"

"I'm awfully busy, Curie." Danse said.

"Oh…" Curie's face fell. "I shall tell _Mademoseille_ Cait the news that there is one less mouth to feed tonight."

She turned around and started to walk away. She was halfway to the door when he spoke again.

"Curie, wait."

She turned back around to face him. He wasn't sure, but for the first time in a while he was feeling guilty that he wasn't about to join the others. Usually he had some convenient excuse. He was too busy. He had to take care of something. He was on duty. All technically correct. But in the end…it was probably a coping mechanism. He'd been terse to the majority of them in the past, and it was just by the grace of fate that they hadn't hated him when he was revealed to be a Synth and a hypocrite. Why hadn't they just cast him out like Maxson had, so callously? He was an abomination…wasn't he?

But then he remembered talking to the boy the previous night, and for the first time in a long time he decided that perhaps he was wrong about something.

"…Is Cait preparing her Brahmin stew?" Danse asked somewhat hesitantly. Curie blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting the man to be interested. But then she recovered.

"Um… _oui!_ She is making her Brahmin stew, and _Monsieur_ Codsworth has baked some razorgrain loaf as a side."

Danse's stomach was growling, and he looked at his letter. He was almost done with the thing, and Chibs deserved a rest after running back from Diamond City to the Castle in the span of a few hours.

"Alright, I'm coming out." He said.

A/N: A brief one this time, but I figured this was good for as far as the plot required. Maxson is considering the most recent proposal from Blue and the gang, but at the same time it is no guarantee. Hancock was being quite generous for wanting so little. Will it be enough to get over Maxson's prejudice? We'll see…

Also, more Danse in the Castle. He's one of my favorite characters in Fallout 4, and I wish that the developers had expanded upon his story a little bit more. But that's what we're here for, right?

Till next time!


	6. Wheeling and Dealing

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Piper had been up for a couple of hours now, and even though it still wasn't even nine in the morning, she was utterly exhausted. She hadn't gotten that much sleep the previous night, and that was mostly to make sure that Baby was working properly, spitting out as many papers as it could. With any luck, Piper hoped to sell enough papers to pay rent for the next week.

She was sold out in an hour.

On one hand, she was ecstatic. After watching her circle of friends dry up because of starting the paper and having to deal with suspicious former friends and family who were afraid that she was going to air their dirty laundry, now the people of Diamond City were buying the paper like it was going to rot. She'd already exhausted the initial supply of papers, and there was a rickety noise in the background as Baby started cranking out more editions to keep up with the demand. The old Minuteman that had helped Nat while she was gone had volunteered his time to help keep the machine running. He was an old fellow, and admitted that he wasn't much for shooting, but he was a good mechanic. And Piper needed a good mechanic to keep Baby running.

The paper had been all about the explosive first day of negotiations. The fact that the Brotherhood of Steel was at least willing to consider allowing Ghoul emancipation and _not_ a mass extermination. She wondered how the people of Diamond City were going to handle it. That bastard McDonough had done such a good job cultivating a racist hatred for Ghouls and _paranoia_ against Synths that Piper was afraid that the city inhabitants would be terrified of the prospect.

But that was before she saw Hancock dancing in the town square for a couple of the kids that loved to run around the perimeter. It didn't hurt that Hancock was totally in favor of making an ass out of himself.

 _Oh I'm the type of Ghoul that likes to roam around_

 _I'm never in one place, I roam from town to town!_

 _And when I find myself falling for some girl_

 _I hop right in that car and I drive right 'round the world!_

' _Cuz I'm a Wanderer, yeah I'm a wanderer_

 _I roam around, around, around, around, around…_

It might be his shitty singing that was winning people over, to be honest. If this Ghoul was unafraid of making an ass of himself in public, then maybe they weren't all about to go feral and bite peoples' necks off.

Piper heard a chuckling noise, and turned to see Blue standing next to her. They were out on the porch of _Publick Occurrences,_ as Nat breathlessly exclaimed that the paper was out of stock and they were reprinting as fast as they could and apologies for any inconvenience.

"He's quite a character, isn't he?" Piper asked, as they watched Hancock acted like what Blue called a "may-pole" while the kids ran around him. Blue chuckled.

"Hancock might be high half the time he's awake, but he's got one of the biggest hearts in the Commonwealth. If he can get Elder Maxson to crack a little bit, then I think that the people won't have much of a problem dealing with Ghouls in general."

"That would free people from Goodneighbor to come back to Diamond City." Piper said. "Mayor McDonough did a great job wedging a divide between the two places."

Blue frowned.

"Fuck McDonough. We're building a future where men like him are erased."

That threw Piper for a loop, if only for the fact that Blue rarely if ever swore. But then she remembered how swiftly he'd gunned down Mayor McDonough, for the sheer offense of attempting to shoot her first. That didn't really strike Piper out of the ordinary; Piper was planning to hit McDonough first and Blue was just the faster shot. What had surprised her was the fact that Blue had emptied an entire clip out of his pipe pistol in blowing McDonough away. She wondered what would have happened if he'd drawn out that pistol that he kept strapped to his chest. It gleamed in the morning sun, and yet the sight of that .44 sent a shiver down her spine.

Blue looked over to the Mayor's office, and sighed.

"They're up and at them early." He said, gesturing to the Brotherhood delegates who were making their way up to the office. He glanced over at Piper, and smirked. "Shall we see what they decided?"

Piper felt a lump in her chest, and could only nod silently.

…

"We…considered your proposal." Elder Maxson said, to begin the conference.

"And?" Blue asked. Elder Maxson took a deep breath. Everyone in the room seemed to be waiting for his next words.

"We are willing to allow for a form of emancipation for Ghouls-"

Piper felt her heart leap.

"-provided they submit to medical testing to determine the level of radiation they have soaked. In order to determine their general health."

Hancock looked like he was about to speak, when Blue cut in.

"Who would be doing the testing?"

"The Brotherhood of Steel has ample doctors that could provide this service."

"That would create a perceived bias. That the Brotherhood is demanding testing of all Ghouls."

"Do you have a counter-proposal?"

"An independent party, perhaps. One that both the Minutemen and the Brotherhood can agree on."

"And is there such a medical expert?"

"Doctor Amari, based out of Goodneighbor."

"Preposterous. That could lead to bias or skewed testing."

"Doctor Amari has no allegiances to the Brotherhood, and has refused multiple attempts to join the Minutemen. She is steadfastly a doctor, and has no leanings either way."

"Can she be trusted?"

"I trust her with my life."

It was like watching that age-old sport that Piper had read about. What was it called? Tennis? There was a part of tennis called "volleying," where the two opponents hit the grenade back and forth between each other with rapid succession. And here in front of her and the rest of the room, Maxson and Blue were engaging in a furious volley. She'd better write this all down.

"If you trust her with your life, and she compiles the data, where should it be held?" Maxson asked.

"An independent location, where neither the Castle or the Prydwen can be accused of influencing or compiling records for malicious purposes." Blue replied.

"And where would that be?"

"Vault 81. Not only is that a control vault, it is also full of highly skilled doctors that have no interest in the political life of the Commonwealth. They're the perfect review board. The Overseer, Gwen McNamara, is a woman who I trust deeply and is committedly apolitical."

"So Doctor Amari and a Brotherhood doctor would compile the tests, and then the data would be sent to this Vault 81?"

"And requests can be made to view records, though doctor-patient confidentiality has to be respected. Unless there is an extreme situation."

Maxson heard this last bit, and turned towards Hancock.

"Do you have any objections to this?" He asked.

"None so far." Hancock said. "Vault 81 keeps the medical records, though. You have to physically travel to the vault to access any medical records. That's my add-in."

"And what is the purpose of this Vault 81 holding the records in the first place?" Maxson asked.

"To prevent any notion of gene policing or eugenics." Blue said. "The files are to be kept solely for medical reasons, and would allow the doctors and engineers in Vault 81 to be aware of and even work on drugs that might help Ghouls in the future. Who knows? Perhaps one of the children of Vault 81 will come up with a cure for Ghoulification in the first place. Or even find a vaccine for feral ghouls."

Piper smiled, as she thought of that chipper and _brilliant_ boy that Blue had saved in Vault 81. Austin. That was the kind of kid that might be the next great scientist.

Maxson was silent for a moment.

"I have one last addendum." He said. "The Brotherhood of Steel is responsible for its own medical testing of our own, and our records are to be stored on the Prydwen. We will not interfere in the data collection of Vault 81 so long as they do not interfere in ours."

"Unless there are extraordinary circumstances?" Hancock asked.

"Unless there are extraordinary circumstances." Maxson conceded. He'd placed an emphasis on "extraordinary," Piper noticed.

"So, in exchange for these deals, the Brotherhood of Steel is willing to recognize Ghouls as citizens of the Commonwealth?"

"Feral ghouls are a scourge to be eradicated from the face of the earth." Maxson said. "But if there is a record of non-ferals kept somewhere safe, and that can be used to perhaps help the condition of those that suffer from such a debilitating disorder…then the Brotherhood is willing to recognize citizenship for the rest of these individuals." He turned to Scribe Haylen. " _ **SCRIBE!**_ Have you recorded this?"

"Y-yes, Elder!" Scribe Haylen said. "I have it written down." Elder Maxson nodded.

"The scourges of nuclear fire has heavily scarred people such as Hancock here." He said. "Though their condition is pitiable, if there is a way to prevent unnecessary violence then I suppose emancipation is a worthwhile endeavor." He turned to Preston. "My scribe will compile a recording of this part of the treaty. If you and your leader have no objections, then perhaps we can sign it in as a done deal. There are other major things to discuss, after all. I don't want to waste my time debating trivialities."

Piper couldn't believe it. He was acting like an asshole, but Maxson was basically admitting that people like Hancock were not enemies to be shot on sight.

"Fair enough." Preston said, sensing the way Blue was thinking. "We'll look it over tonight, and then tomorrow morning at the next meeting we'll sign it into the treaty."

"Splendid." Maxson said, with no joy in his voice. "Now, to more pressing matters." He said. "Armament in the Commonwealth. Who has the right to carry weaponry?"

"Are you suggesting an infringement on the right to bear arms?" Preston asked.

"I care not for the Commonwealth farmer and his pipe rifle." Maxson said. "Ballistic rounds and their weapons are understandable needs for self-defense. I'm more concerned about your average farmer getting his hands on high-caliber laser weaponry and blowing off his hands."

"So what do you propose?" Blue asked.

"I don't care about the flow of guns that fire regular ballistics." Maxson said. "But anyone that wishes to possess or use a plasma or fusion cell based weapon must pass testing certification."

"Who would be responsible for the testing?"

"The Brotherhood." Maxson said. "If an individual can, by the opinion of a Proctor, display proper procedure for firing, loading, and even disposing of a spent fusion cell, then that individual has the right to carry high-power weaponry."

"What about traders and their guards?" Preston asked. Maxson waved his hands dismissively.

"They have a dangerous job. If someone has a permit to trade, then they may carry whatever they need to defend themselves." He said. "I'm more concerned with the average citizen who is uneducated about the dangers of fusion-based weaponry." He looked Blue in the eye. "I've given you Ghoul emancipation. At the very least let my order be in charge of teaching the Commonwealth responsible training for better defense. Let the Super Mutants be the ones that continually blow their own heads off."

"What about the Minutemen and their laser muskets?" Preston asked.

"The Minutemen are classified as an armed force, with rules and regulations." Blue pointed out. "Anyone that is in our ranks has received training with weaponry of this nature by Ronnie Shaw, Colonel and weapons specialist for the order."

"I would like to see this Colonel Shaw in action myself." Elder Maxson said. "But your overall point stands. The Minutemen and their weaponry are exempt. But the rest of the Commonwealth citizens are not. And I will bend no further on this."

Blue looked over at Hancock and Preston, who both shrugged.

"Very well." Blue said. "The Brotherhood can be in charge of the teaching and training of citizens that have ability to fire non-ballistic based weapons. Will there be a grandfather clause?"

"A grandfather clause?" Maxson asked.

"People that have been serving for years in one way or another and have been primarily been firing these kinds of weapons. Will they need to go through the same testing?"

Maxson was silent for a moment.

"That will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis." He said. "I will not say no, but I will not say yes outright. Now, do you accept the terms or not?"

It was clear that this was the best they were going to get out of him. Blue nodded.

"Fine."

"Then, to recap." Maxson said. "Emancipation for the Ghouls, though they need to be medically examined by an independent doctor to determine their overall health, and those records will be kept in this mythical 'Vault 81,' which _I would like to see myself_ efore the end of these conferences. I believe you when you say it exists, but I am a careful man by nature." He then cleared his throat. "And concerning the proliferation of non-ballistic based weapons in the Commonwealth, the Brotherhood of Steel shall serve as the organization in charge of training and certification for civilians."

"Just like the DMV…" Blue muttered. Piper wondered what on earth he was talking about.

"If you have no objections?" Maxson asked.

Blue looked over at Preston and Hancock. Neither of them said anything.

"Good. Then let's move on to something that I think we can all agree on: the issue of the Gunners. What is to be done with them?" Maxson asked.

"They hold Quincy, or what's left of it." Preston said.

"That's a rather polite way of putting it." Proctor Ingram said. "I don't think I've ever seen a quiet day whenever Vertibirds fly over Quincy. In fact, we can't fly too close because I don't want to see a crash landing." She sighed. "It looks like a constant warzone."

"We've given up sending traders down through the south." Preston said. "Because we're too skittish about losing people. It's gotten to the point where the settlements that we keep in the southern Commonwealth are reduced to waiting on singular care packages from runners. Anything else has to be heavily guarded, and that takes away Minutemen manpower from other important areas."

"And my soldiers do not know the territory of the city to enter properly." Maxson said. "And while we dither, Quincy is continually burning. It will not be long before the fires start to catch the rest of the Commonwealth. I'd rather get rid of that thorn in our side."

"Then we're in agreement." Blue said, interrupting his quiet. "We're all doing this for the common good? Then let's put our heads together and squash them."

"That is an opinion that I can get behind." Elder Maxson said. And for the first time, he smiled.

But to Piper, it was like seeing a Deathclaw bearing its teeth.

…

"Captain!"

Danse looked up from the blueprints. He was leaning over one of the workbenches on the first level of the new "multi-level" complex that the Castle was constructing. The first floor had been built, which meant that now Danse had to get used to working in the shade whenever he stepped out into the courtyard. There was a chunk of the Castle courtyard that was left open so that plants could grow, but now it seemed that the majority of the crops were getting re-planted just outside the Castle walls. That would take a while. The last thing that he needed was to be interrupted.

"What is it, soldier?" He asked. The Minuteman that had come up to him seemed to wither in front of him. Danse might not be wearing any power armor, but it was clear that he still possessed that innate ability to radiate command and power towards those beneath him.

"Um, I have the most recent correspondence from Bunker Hill, sir." The soldier said, passing an envelope to the interim leader of the Castle. "I figured I would hand to you, seeing as how the Colonel is out in front of the Castle doing drills, and the General is currently in Diamond City."

"I'll take it." Danse said, grabbing the envelope. It was pretty heavy. No doubt Kessler had felt the need to write a massive tract on the current status of goods coming and going from Bunker Hill and why she wanted nothing less than full protection from the Minutemen to keep up her supply lines. Sometimes he wondered why the General bothered with dealing with the woman who had appointed herself the leader of Bunker Hill.

"Thank you." He said to the soldier. "Dismissed."

With that, the soldier left him to return to his business.

Danse looked at the envelope, and he sighed. This was no less than the fourth report that he'd been given this day, and it wasn't even dinnertime yet. It was usually around the night time guard shifting that scouts came back from their beats to report on the current standings in the Commonwealth.

Danse was so busy in his thoughts that it wasn't until the fourth time that he realized that someone was busy calling his name.

"Oy, Danse! Have you got rocks in your head, or are you just ignorin' me?"

Cait. Typical.

"No, I was distracted by the enormity of my responsibilities here at the Castle." Danse said. He frowned slightly. "This had beter be important, Cait."

"No need to get so damned fussy, you big ol' fusspot." Cait said. "I'm just here to fuckin' talk to ya. Seein' as how you're so busy wrapped up in your own thoughts." She smirked, and raised up a bottle of something strong. "You know, if you're feeling a little bit tired out, there's somethin' for that."

Danse wrinkled his nose.

"I don't drink." He said. Cait rolled her eyes.

"Suit yerself. More for me, then." She said, and she downed the rest of the bottle. Danse watched her with a raised eyebrow. He knew that the General had taken Cait to Vault 95 somewhere in the southern half of the Commonwealth to get her cured of her drug addictions. And it was definitely plural: there were times where, when they'd been idling in Santuary Hills, that Danse had witnessed Cait doing a cocktail of drugs crazy enough that Hancock was terrified to try it. And if _Hancock_ found something too sharp…

Either way, Cait's addictions were gone. In their place was the simple joy of drinking for the sake of having fun. Danse knew that, based on the accent and some of the things that Cait would say, the woman was descended from a place called "Ireland," which was a place that apparently was filled with belligerents, drunks, and even belligerent drunks. But at least Cait was willing to talk every now and then.

Which reminded him…

"Is there something that you need, Cait?" He asked. "Usually you don't butter myself or the General up unless there's something in it for you."

At this, Cait suddenly looked a little bit unsure of herself.

"D'ya mind if we discuss this in his office?" She asked. Danse looked around. There weren't a lot of Minutemen out in the Castle right now; most of them were too busy working on construction and other improvements to the Castle. Curie and Shaun were both digging through the garden with Sheffield. Strong was busy carrying massive chunks of steel and wood into the courtyard for use in the construction. So no one would be paying attention. But if this was potentially sensitive information, then he supposed that he could accommodate Cait.

…

As soon as they were inside the General's office, Danse closed the door.

"What do you need?" He asked. Cait cleared her throat.

"So, you know that, before I started runnin' with you all…I was a fighter. A damned good one, in the Combat Zone."

"I'd never been there myself, but I'd heard that." Danse said. "You aren't thinking about taking up that lifestyle again, are you?"

"No!" Cait said. "Well…not me, exactly."

Danse folded his arms across his chest.

"You're going to have to explain this to me."

"I'm getting to that, you fussy tin can." Cait said. "So I wasn't the only one involved in the old Combat Zone. There was also my boss, Tommy Lonegan. He's a bit of a slick bastard, but he was lookin' out for me. I think that's why he gave my contract over to our friend, who went and got me clean." She said. She took a moment to smile slightly at the lengths that Blue had gone to to help her out. "But anyway, now that the Institute is out of the way, Tommy felt the need to reach out to me a few days ago. Said he was thinkin' about expanding his business ventures. Not just fighting, but other sports and entertainment and stuff." Cait said. "He said he didn't trust the Brotherhood, and that Diamond City had a stick wedged too far up its ass to take him seriously. He was hoping to talk to the leader of the Minutemen. I know that he meant our friend, but I was wondering…if you'd be willing to fill in that role?" She asked.

"You're asking me to be in charge of negotiating sanctioned fights?" Danse asked, somewhat incredulous. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't the fights you were getting in the kinds where two fighters entered but only one fighter left?"

"Well, yeah. But he's changing that!" Cait said. "Said he found a bunch of old tapes and magazines about this new kinda sports entertainment crap that wouldn't require the combatants to _actually_ fuckin' die in order to satiate the crowd. Said he wanted to make it a cleaner business. Something. I dunno. I just used to be a fighter, and while active fightin' is behind me I can't abandon the guy. 'Specially since our friend fuckin' shot up the Combat Zone."

Danse was treated to the mental image of the General blowing away whatever scum had been watching the death matches that had been placed in the Combat Zone, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling a twinge of satisfaction. But Cait, while crude and crass, was not necessarily a bad person. And if she said that this Tommy Lonegan wanted to go straight, then he was in no position to immediately discredit her. And he figured that such a matter was not worth getting the General involved, either.

"Alright, Cait." Danse said. "Send word to your friend Tommy that I am willing to speak to him on behalf of the Minutemen General."

At this, Cait's mouth went agape.

"Wha…for real? I was half expectin' ya to say no!"

"If you keep staring at me like that, then I might just give you what you were expecting."

"Alright, alright! That's the fusspot Danse that I know." Cait said, but there was no denying the satisfied glint in her eyes. "I'll pass the word on to Tommy. Knowing him, he'll wanna meet you here, in the safety of the Castle. I love Tommy, but he's a bit of a cowardly pissant." She gave a jaunty wave. "Well, it's probably time for me shift. Talk to you later, Danse."

She strutted out of the General's office, carrying herself like she was mighty pleased. Danse couldn't help but smile as he shook his head. Cait was a hothead, prone to crass remarks, seemed to be intent with sleeping with any and every man (or at least flirting with) that came within her radius, and delighted in causing trouble. But when it came right down to it, Danse noted that she wasn't so bad in the end.

He blinked in surprise. Here he was, thinking that Cait wasn't that bad? This job was really starting to get to him.

…

The stars glittered in the sky as Diamond City started to turn in for the night. There were some residents and members of the Minutemen (as well as the Diamond City security) walking about, and that Mr. Handy (what was his name again?) was managing Diamond City Surplus. Piper saw Zwicky and Edna quietly conversing over at the Noodle Shop, and she couldn't help but smile and shake her head. It wasn't exactly the most straightforward kind of love, but she'd been experienced to a lot of different and crazy things since running with Blue.

She was on her way to Diamond City Radio. Judging by the little radio she was holding, Travis was busy running a night shift of talk radio and music. He tended to do this once a week, but most likely he was too amped up by the arrival of the Brotherhood to get any decent sleep, so he'd been running "after dark" as he liked to call it, the entire week.

As Piper made her way through the back alleys of Diamond City, she felt a shiver come up her neck. She had the oddest feeling that she was being watched. Or followed.

She whirled around, drawing her 10mm pistol and pointing it in the direction that she thought she'd heard something.

That was when she felt the hand cover her mouth, and the shiv gently resting against her neck.

"Man, I must be getting slow. Any slower and you might have actually fired that thing, and woke up the whole damn neighborhood."

Immediately, Piper dropped the gun in shock. She whirled around, as the mysterious figure loosened the grip. She fumbled for the pistol, knowing that her "assailant" was not going to harm her, and then finally found her voice.

" _Deacon?_ " She hissed. It didn't look like him. He was wearing a skull cap and what looked like a shaggy wig, as well as a thick beard. His clothes were ratty and smelled like cigars and booze. It was a perfect disguise. He grabbed her by the shoulders and marched off to the side of the street, so that they were in the dark and out of public view.

"Deacon, what the _fuck?_ " Piper hissed. Deacon put a finger to his lips.

"Keep it down!" He said. "You really _will_ wake half the neighborhood at this rate. And considering the newest tenents of the Upper Boxes, I'd prefer that not to happen."

"Deacon, what's going on?" Piper asked.

"Where's Fixer?" Deacon asked.

"Fixer" was the nickname that Blue had picked up when he started running work with Deacon early on during his time with the Railroad. But as Blue's duties with the Minutemen became larger, he'd had to quietly retire from his role as a Railroad agent. Deacon still called him the name though, mostly as a term of endearment.

"He's…he's at my place." Piper said. Deacon didn't even smirk or make a bawdy joke.

"Here's what's up. You gotta take me to him, but you gotta do it in a way that no one knows that I'm here with you. And you gotta take me to see him _now._ "

"Deacon-"

"We're on a tight schedule, Deacon. Can she help us or not?"

The other voice came out of the shadows, and Piper about shit herself in shock. _Desdemona_ was standing next to Deacon now, too, smoking one of those little cigarettes that she loved so much.

"Piper, I'm _serious._ " Deacon said. "Let's just say that we've stepped in some deep shit. And if Fixer doesn't get the upper leg on what we're sitting on before Maxson does, then the whole peace talks are gonna get blown higher than the Institute."

A/N: CLIFFHANGER!

…You guys didn't really think that I was going to write a story without the Railroad, did you? Considering the comments readers have made about Blue and his supposed morality, it would fucking _sociopathic_ for Blue to be this good man and General while at the same time having ordered the extermination of the Railroad. That would be impossible to reconcile with the story I'm telling.

So what have Deacon and the Railroad stumbled on that is apparently so big that Desdemona had to leave the HQ to come with him? You'll just have to wait and see…


	7. A Helluva Wrench in the Plans

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Piper could barely think straight as she made her way through the streets. Deacon and Desdemona had disappeared from sight shortly after she'd agreed to help them…but that didn't make things any better to calm her nerves. It was late at night, and she was supposed to be writing an edition of the _Publick Occurrences_ about how the Brotherhood and the Minutemen were making headway. And here came a potential mushroom cloud to destroy it all.

Piper had mixed feelings about the Railroad. On one hand, she'd always been suspicious of Synths growing up. But after she'd met Blue (and Curie and, yes, even Danse), she'd started to re-evaluate her prior opinions about these individuals. And when it came to the thought of Synths wishing to escape the Institute, then she wasn't opposed to anything that let them get away. And the Railroad was pretty good at getting those that wanted to leave out of the place.

It was the "and then what?" aspect of it that soured her on the Railroad. They were great at executing their plan, but she got the feeling that they didn't have any end-game besides destroying the Institute. She'd been there when Blue and Desdemona got into a legitimate screaming match over the fate of the Prydwen: When Desdemona had suggested bombing the thing out of the sky, Blue had terrified everyone with his outburst. It was like he'd grown to be the size of a Super Mutant as he howled about the ethical horrors of killing those that the Railroad wanted killed. Desdemona, to her credit, had backed down.

But ever since the Institute had gone up in flames, the Railroad had been quiet. And Piper had known that it was only a matter of time before they reared their head again. She just wished that it wasn't in something so sensitive. But then again, perhaps it was exactly to be expected.

She opened the door to the _Publick,_ and saw that Blue was on the couch reading the previous day's edition of the paper. The slight smile on his face as he read Piper's work made her heart flutter a bit…for some reason. Why did it matter to her that much if he liked her work? Didn't she feel the same whenever anyone complimented her work?

He looked up at her, and smiled.

'Hey, Piper." He said. "What's-"

He stopped talking, and his smile disappeared. Urgently, he motioned for Piper to shut the door. Piper turned to do so, and let out a squeak of shock as Desdemona and Deacon had silently followed her inside the house. Piper shut the door, and Deacon took off the wigged hat he was wearing, revealing his shiny bald head. Piper _knew_ that he'd been wearing a wig after all this time. Of course, he then reached into his pocket and pulled out a newsboy cap, and rested it on his head. Evidently he was a little touchy about his head.

"What's going on?" Blue asked. "Piper, are you alright?"

"Relax, chief." Deacon said. "Dez and I would never do anything to her. She was safer than…well, a Deathclaw when it goes out for a morning stroll."

"Deacon, cut the jokes. This is serious." Desdemona said. She turned towards Blue. He nodded, a slightly stunned look on his face.

"It must be. You _never_ leave the headquarters unless things are important."

"This isn't just important. It's crucial." Desdemona said. She took a seat on one of the chairs, and reapplied her lighter to the cigarette she was puffing. Piper wrinkled her nose. She'd never understood anyone's fixation on cigarettes or cigars. She tended to tease Blue for his nicotine addiction, but there was no hope of stopping him. That was kinda gross, though. She wondered how his wife handled it. It was probably like kissing an ashtray.

Wait, where did that _last_ thought come from?

"Well, there's no point in dancing around the subject." Blue said. He looked at Desdemona. "What's the issue?"

"Remember how, when you went into the Institute, you said that you fired off the evacuation beacon to tell everyone to get the hell out of dodge?" Deacon asked. Blue's eyes widened slightly, and yet he didn't say anything.

"We were investigating an open building to see if it would make a good safehouse." Desdemona said. "But then we realized that we weren't the first people that had found the place."

"Which is kind of a surprise, seeing as how no one except that weirdo who names his rifles lives in the Salem area." Deacon said.

"Well?" Blue asked. "What the hell did you find?"

Desdemona took a deep breath.

"We found everyone that got out, Fixer."

There was a silence that seemed to last an eternity. Blue's mouth hung open slightly agape. Deacon nodded.

"Yeah. Scientists. Engineers. Their kids and families…there's about fifty people that got out of the Institute because you were kind enough to pull the plug on the emergency switch." He said.

Piper felt a massive wave of panic. The Institute was supposed to be gone. GONE. Then why were there still people from that place walking the earth? Why was there still a group of people that had survived? Did that not mean that everything that they were working so hard for was about to go up in smoke? She felt her heart racing at the thought of a rebuilt Institute, and of more of those terrifying Gen-II or even Gen-I Synths that had chased her, Blue and the others through the Commonwealth. It could all start over again. Couldn't it?

"What's their status?" Blue asked. "Are they a threat?"

"They're pretty pathetic, to be honest." Deacon said. "Mostly still in shock that their home was destroyed, and the usual shock that comes with the realization that the world on the surface is waaayyyyy worse than anything that they could have imagined. Most of them are just sort of ambling around the church in the center of Salem. Remember that one old whacko that we met out in Salem?"

"Barney's not a whacko." Blue said, though there was a small smirk threatening to appear on his face as if he was trying not to laugh. "He's just…a bit out there. Being the only member of the Salem Volunteer Militia will do that to you. But what about him?"

"He's the one that tipped us off." Desdemona said. "I don't know how, but he managed to get in touch with one of our runners that was scouting out the Salem area to see if we could stick a few Synths in a potential safehouse. Well, our runner got spotted by this Mr. Rook, who warned her to come towards his palce of residence because the Mirelurks were about to come out that night and they'd been hungry of late."

"So your runner went to his house?" Blue asked.

"Right." Desdemona said. "While she's there, Mr. Rook was doing the usual questioning of who she was and where she was from, but she didn't give us up. Just said that she was a travelling missionary."

"And Barney bought that?" Piper asked.

"I'm not entirely sure." Desdemona said. "I think he was just looking for an excuse to tell someone, because he told my runner to tell whomever her superiors were that he'd just helped 'around fifty people' into the church in the center of town about a day ago, and there was no way that he had enough food or water for all of them. So he asked her to send for help. She came back to base, and as soon as she told us her story we left the HQ to tell you."

"And the reason you told me first is?" Blue asked. Desdemona looked almost insulted.

"Who would we tell instead?" Desdemona asked. "The Brotherhood? They'd come in guns blazing and raze the entire church. I hate the Institute and everything that they stand for but…" She sighed. "I have a conscience. And I can't bear the thought of executing children. There are children in there."

"You seemed fine with it when the Brotherhood was the target." Blue said.

"I had no idea that there were _children_ aboard the ship!" Desdemona fired back.

"Okay." Blue said, in an entirely unconvinced tone. He leaned back in the chair. "Well, here's the deal. They're going to be found out eventually. And make no mistake about it: when Maxson finds out that they've survived, he's going to want every last one of them killed for crimes against humanity. The trick here is manipulating _when_ he finds out, as well as the _context_ for how he finds out."

"What are you getting at, chief?" Deacon asked. Blue took a puff from his cigar.

"If the Brotherhood were to find the Institute remnant in someplace as undeclared as Salem, then there's no reason to think that they wouldn't just purge the place." He said. "But…doing that would just make them even harder to deal with. Maxson is pretty hard-line in his beliefs, but…he isn't a complete lost cause yet."

"I dunno, Blue." Piper said. "He's kind of an asshole."

"That doesn't mean that he's utterly irredeemable." Blue replied. "But that is a good point. If we don't figure it out and he gets to the Institute remnant first, then I might have to deal with a zealot for the rest of the time I'm in the Commonwealth." He sighed. "And there were plenty of those back in my day."

There was a silence in the air. Blue took a puff of his cigar. He then turned towards Desdemona.

"Desdemona, how discreet are your best runners?" He asked.

"Well, they're not as good as you were." Desdemona said. "But…they're good. I think they were taking notes while you were with us. And I'm proud of them."

"How many of them have made bulk trips before?" Blue asked.

"A couple. But they've never dealt with more than a few people at a time. Why?"

Blue sighed. He laced his fingers together underneath his chin in thought. And then he spoke.

"Because we're going to need to pull off the mother of all bait-and-switches."

"You lost me, chief." Deacon said. Blue nodded.

"Here's the plan." Blue said. "The peace talks are going to keep going on as if nothing has changed. As if neither of you came to me tonight. I will keep Maxson interested in the future politics of the Commonwealth, as well as preparations for an attack on Quincy. While he's looking south…" Blue gestured towards the Railroad operatives. "You're going to sneak in from the north. Take your best men and women, and get the Institute remnant out of Salem. Barney can show you the best way out of the city and down the coast. Stay away from the Kingsport Lighthouse: that's a haven for the Children of Atom, and they're not nice. Have the remnant come to the Castle, and then let your people disappear into the shadows. I will take custody of the remnant, and that's when I notify Maxson that the remaining people that lived in the Institute are in my custody at the Castle."

"Won't that information incite him to attack you?" Piper asked. Blue shook his head.

"Not if I bait him with the carrot of putting the Institute scientists on trial." I said.

"That would be a complete sham!" Piper said. "If you were in charge of such a thing, it's highly likely that most of them would be nailed for crimes that they might have had nothing to do with!"

"And if Maxson is in charge of them, then that is a guarantee." Blue said. "I hate the Institute, but what kind of world are we building if we just repeat the mistakes of the past, or by imposing martial law? I lived through that; it isn't conducive to a healthy society." He said. "Trust me when I say that I can get Maxson to see my side of things. If nothing else, I can get him to re-consider starting a war."

"That's a tall order." Desdemona said. "And if it was anyone other than you, I would doubt the possibility of it all." She took a drag from her cigarette. "This is going to be tricky, Fixer. You know that our numbers took a beating after the Institute attacks on us in the weeks and months before you showed up. If we are going to be able to pull this off, then we need to be assured that there's something to help us. We simply don't have the firepower or the knowledge of how to move that massive of a group in the dark through enemy territory in a short amount of time. The Railroad was meant to transport a couple of Synths at a time. It wasn't meant to transport an entire population. Or a company of soldiers, for a better comparison."

At the last bit, Blue went quiet, pondering the dilemma. But then he lit up like the cigar in his mouth, and Piper knew that he had a solution.

"He'd kept telling me he wanted overtime…" Blue muttered. He turned to Desdemona. "I have someone who will be able to help you out. He's smart, good with a weapon, knows the lay of the land, and above all is excellent at scouting a territory and sensing enemy movement. If he's with you, then you'll be about as safe as you can be while in the Commonwealth in the dead of night."

"Won't it be suspicious if the world sees a Minuteman helping us move a lot of unidentified people?" Desdemona asked. Blue chuckled.

"He's not a Minuteman, though. He's a freelancer."

...

MacCready kicked his feet up on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Sitting at another desk nearby, his host looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You're making yourself right at home, aren't you?" Nick Valentine asked.

"Only because I know that you're too kind, Nick." MacCready said. At another desk, Ellie was shuffling through the notes of Nick's latest trudge through the remains of the Institute. She rolled her eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder why we bother, Nick." She said. "He's kind of a hassle. Like an overgrown molerat."

"At least he pays rent, and doesn't make a mess." Nick replied. "For that, I think I can handle a couple of wiseass remarks." He turned around towards Ellie. "How's it going sorting through the information?"

"It…goes." Ellie said. "You didn't find much today, so that let me catch up on filing everything else that you've brought in."

"Have you all found anything to give to the people that are hiring you?" MacCready asked. As he spoke, he took out his sniper rifle and laid it out on the desk he'd been resting his feet against.

"Scraps here and there." Nick said. He smoked his cigarette wistfully. "Enough to satiate a few people…but not nearly enough. I'm not about to stop, though. I'm headed out to the wreckage site again tomorrow afternoon. I know that there's a Minuteman patrol marching in from Covenant, so I figure I go and do this while there's some other people out there to watch my robotic behind while I dig through the rubble."

As he spoke, MacCready started to take apart his gun and took out a rag. He began wiping out anything in the barrel, and then frowned. There was dirt in the rear sight aperture. He knew that that was going to be an issue if he didn't clean it.

The door knocked.

"I got it." Ellie said. She walked over to the door, and opened it. "Oh, General! I didn't expect to see you this late."

At the sound of her identifying the guest, both Nick and MacCready looked up. Blue was standing in the doorway. He looked like a man on a mission, because he wasn't smiling. He quietly thanked Ellie for her hospitality, and then closed the door behind him. As soon as he was done, he turned towards MacCready.

"Mac, pay attention. What I'm about to offer you is a job that is extremely dangerous. It's not going to be easy. It's going to be pressure-filled. And it's the kind of thing where if you screw up there might be lasting consequences for the entire Commonwealth and its future. Needless to say, you can't say no and you can't fail. If you do this, you'll get paid overtime. And I'll never pester you to join the Minutemen again. But you have to do this, and you have to do it exactly right. Can I count on you?"

There was dead silence. And then MacCready spoke.

"What do you need, chief?"

…

The sounds of construction had at one point been little more than white noise in the background. But tonight, for whatever reason, they were awful. It might have something to do with the fact that he'd had a blistering headache. There were no less than five reports that had come in from settlements earlier that day, all of them requesting aid or advice in some way, shape or form from the Castle and by extension the Minutemen entirely. Ronnie had been zero help to him; she'd laughed and said that paperwork was her weakness. Preston wasn't here, so he couldn't blame the man for finding an _endless_ stream of problems that popped up amongst the settlements in the Commonwealth.

And the General…his friend…wasn't here, so there was no one to complain to, and no one that could sympathize with his plight. As it stood, he was sitting out on the second "story" of the Castle, in the middle of the construction, scribbling furious responses to the many letters that had been delivered.

It was a lot of tiring work. And yet, despite it all, there was some sort of relief that came from every letter that he properly responded to. If anything, he knew that there was joy in the process of work, and not just in the payoff. It was a worthwhile endeavor, in its own way, to be able to be actively involved in a team effort again. Especially when he was trusted with so much responsibility.

Now, if only that damned Super Mutant wasn't so _loud_ with his construction work.

"Would you like a drink, mister Danse?"

He looked up to see that Codsworth had floated next to him, and one of the robotic arms was holding a bottle of what appeared to be purified water. It was impressive that, after two hundred years, Codsworth was still able to make his water a bit more purified than the shit that infected 90% of the water in the Commonwealth. Somehow, Danse knew that if this was common knowledge, Codsworth might be the most valuable possession in the Commonwealth.

"Certainly, Codsworth." He said, gratefully taking the bottle.

"Of course, sir!" Codsworth said. He started to float away. For whatever reason, Danse spoke up again.

"Codsworth, do you have a moment?"

"Why, yes. What is on your mind, mister Danse?"

"I just had a question about…your master." Danse said. "The General."

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, a lot…I suppose. But there's one question that's truly bothering me. For the longest time, when he and I were in the Brotherhood together, he heard me go on and on about how Synths were a perversion of science and an abomination. He would always be neutral, at worst gently disagreeing with me. But when the time came to discover that I was a Synth, the very thing that I had been trained to hate and destroy, he refused to kill me. Even when I asked him to. Why is that? What kind of man is he to take such a risk? For all I know, there might be failsafes programmed into me that, upon hearing a choice word, means that I will shut down forever or even attempt to murder him. And yet he still trusts me. Why is that?"

Codsworth was silent for a time. When he spoke, Danse noted that the robot actually sounded thoughtful.

"I have wondered what motivates my master to do the things that he does, from time to time." Codsworth said. "And there are times where I confess that I'm not certain, as my memory and thought matrix are only capable of handling so much. But…but there is something that I _do_ know that motivates my master, and that is that there is no one I know with a bigger heart than him. I think one would be hard-pressed to find someone who loves his fellow man, no matter what they look like, as much as my master does."

"But…" Danse said. "I'm not a man…"

"Codswollop!" Codsworth said. "You might not technically be _human_ , but you are most certainly a man. For if you are not a man, what does that make me? Master treats me as family, and has said so to my face. He even went so far as to call me an uncle for young master Shaun. I am not so presumptious to think that I am human as well, but I think it is a fair assessment to believe that I am a man. And I see no reason why you shouldn't consider yourself a man, either. I know that my master thinks that of you."

Danse was quiet for a moment. There was something in his heart that seemed to calm upon hearing the Mr. Handy's words. He looked up at Codsworth, and he smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Codsworth. That…that does answer my question, and in a way that I hadn't expected."

"I'm happy to help, mister Danse!" Codsworth said. "Now, if I may be so bold, there are some of our friends out there down on the waterfront having dinner. Perhaps you might want to join them?"

Danse looked down towards the peninsula that led out to the great sea. There was a small covered wagon sitting out there, and soon Cait had popped her head out of the flaps, opening it up to reveal that there were others in there with her.

"Christ, gimme some fuckin' air!" He heard her growl in annoyance, before disappearing back into the flap. Danse turned towards Codsworth.

"Codsworth, the letters that I have put in envelopes are finished. Can you take those and put them in the mailing station for me? I'll deal with the rest myself."

"Of course, sir!"

…

He made his way over to the wagon. It wasn't the only wagon out there on the peninsula, but it was the closest to the Castle and there were sounds of merriment coming from inside. He took a deep breath, and then ducked underneath the flap so that he could peer inside.

He was greeted by the sight of Cait, Curie, Jonathan the radioman, and two other Minutemen. And there, sitting wedged in between Curie and Jonathan, was little Shaun.

"Hi Danse!" Shaun said, waving. Danse waved hello, and then made a face.

"God, what died in here?" He muttered.

"Corpswoman Cait over here tried making some Brahmin stew in an ammo box." Jonathan said, gesturing to the little green canister that was sitting over a controlled fire. "Too bad the Brahmin wasn't that good."

"You got a reservation at a better place, you fuckin' let me know." Cait said. There were some chuckles in the wagon. One of the Minutemen hesitantly offered a bottle of Gwinnett towards Danse.

"Um, would you like a drink, sir?" He asked. Cait shook her head.

"Nah. Fuss-pot Danse here don't drink. Too course for his virginal tastes."

But to her surprise, Danse grabbed the bottle and uncorked the top.

"Well, there's a first time for everything." Danse said, taking a sip. He made a face as he got used to the funny taste of alcohol. And then he looked up at Cait, and handed the bottle back towards her. "Isn't that right, Cait?"

There was a small smirk on her face as she took the bottle back.

"Aye, sir." She said.

"Sir, if the General is off at Diamond City, and the Colonel doesn't have any interest in leadership of the Castle…doesn't that make you the interim General?" One of the men asked. Danse considered the thought, and then spoke.

"No. I'm a Captain in the Minutemen, but the General is the General. And I'm only following his orders to the best capability that I have." He paused, and then spoke again. "Though I'd recommend treating me nice, otherwise I might have to tell on you."

A little row of chuckles came through the wagon. Danse found himself smiling too. He wasn't one for joking, and yet here he was, making a forced attempt at humor and getting some laughs out of it. He nodded his head.

"Alright, enjoy your meal everyone." He started to leave, and then he poked his head back in the wagon. "Oh, uh, Cait?"

"Yeah?" She asked.

Danse looked from one side of the wagon to the next, and then lowered his voice a bit while he spoke.

"I'm, uh…I'm not a virgin."

As he slipped back out of the wagon in the middle of their stunned silence, he soon heard some uproarious laughter coming from the tent. Cait seemed to be laughing the hardest.

"Sure, he's probably got the fuckin' clap!"

" _Sacre bleu_ , watch your tongue around little Shaun, Cait!"

"Aunt Curie, I've heard way worse. I play around with Uncle Hancock, remember?"

Danse heard that exchange, and for the first time in a while he didn't feel so alone.

A/N: I always wondered what would happen to the Institute remnant after the decision is made to call in the evacuation protocol (unless you're an asshole and chose not to warn everyone that their home was about to go up in smoke), and so I decided to shoehorn in a little wrench in the plans of Blue and everyone else. How will they handle this little bluff? _Can_ they pull it off? We'll see.

Be prepared for plenty of secondary characters from the vanilla game to pop up in the next couple of chapters. I enjoyed the crop of well-developed tertiary stories and characters that litter the Commonwealth, you know?

See you next time.


	8. Kansas City Shuffle

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Sometimes he wondered what was it that made him able to wake up so swiftly, especially in comparison to the rest of the world. In the past, he would have attributed it to his soldierly training and his tendency to always take point and watch. But these days, the very thought made him question everything. Was it because of his training? Or was it because he was a Synth, and he was better equipped to "start up" and "shut down" than the rest of the world? These were the questions that kept him up at night, without question.

And here he was, a full hour before Jonathan was about to get on the radio and start waking up the Commonwealth with the Minutemen announcements, sitting at the General's desk. He also felt more than a little bit uncomfortable about sitting in the desk to begin with. It wasn't _his._ It was the General's. To even be sitting here as a sort of placeholder for the General didn't feel right.

And yet…at the same time, it was rather nice that he was still useful. He'd kept the Castle running on a relatively swift pace since taking temporary command, and he was certain that the General would be pleased with the pace of the workers that were constructing the levels that would turn the Castle into a multi-faceted complex that was more than just some ancient stone walls. And in a strange sort of way, Danse took some pride in that.

He leaned back in the chair, and sighed. He'd spent too much time being introspective. He stared at the letters that he'd started writing, one to The Slog (they wanted a mechanically-oriented Minuteman to come and fix one of their broken turrets) and another all the way out to Hangman's Alley (they needed some more shells for their artillery unit. He groaned. It was time to get back to work. After all, there wasn't really going to be anything important happening today. The least he could do was write a couple of letters.

…

He moved swiftly through the dark, and a gentle breeze rustled through the dead trees that littered the landscape. He had made a point to stay as close to the road as possible, while at the same time keeping just off to the side. Too close to the center and he'd attract the attention of a Brotherhood patrol or worse. If he drifted too far off the beaten path, then he might run into a Deathclaw or even a Stingwing. He hated Stingwings even worse than Deathclaws. With Deathclaws, at least you knew exactly what to expect. With Stingwings…he shuddered. He'd seen men get stabbed in the chest and then sucked dry by those monstrocities. That was the type of thing that kept him up at night.

And the last thing he needed was one of his charges getting hit by that terrible fate. He'd rather they be found by the Brotherhood than have someone get stung by a Stingwing.

He heard a rustling, and immediately he dove behind cover. It was the faded remnant of whatever they called that divider that stood in between the roads of a highway. What did the boss call them? "Medians?" Something like that. And then he heard a voice.

"Flash!"

MacCready was lucky that he'd paid attention to Desdemona.

"Thunder!" He barked back, still pointing his rifle in the direction of the original sound.

There was a pause, and even though he relaxed a bit, MacCready kept his rifle pointed in the direction of the noise. Out of the shady brush came a trio of people, all of them dressed in flannel and other bits of unassuming clothes.

"You the Rifleman?" One of them asked. She was clearly the leader of this outfit. She had a red scarf wrapped around her neck, and a nasty-looking combat knife tied to her chest. He nodded.

"Yeah. You the backup?"

"That's right." The woman whispered. With that, they stood upright. MacCready frantically motioned for them to stay low, and then motioned them over to where he was taking cover.

"Don't do that!" He hissed. "You'll stir something bigger and meaner than me."

"Sorry." The woman whispered. As they got closer, he could get a better look. The man on the left was ancient, with wrinkled bronze skin and chalk white hair. He also had a massive assault rifle in his hands. The one on the left was a young-looking fellow, with red hair and a gap in his teeth as he grimaced. Or smiled. It looked like a strange combination of the two. She was dark-skinned and had her hair tied into twisted braids.

"Call me Bleach." She said. She extended her hand. "Over here is Chum, and the other is Bucket."

"Why the code names?" MacCready asked.

"So the Institute don't know where we are!" The old man, clearly Chum, said. Bucket rolled his eyes.

"He thinks that every enemy is the Institute. Or Institute-affiliated." Bucket said. "So we sort of pattern around that."

"What's the plan, boss?" Bleach asked. "Dez said that you were in charge, and that we were to follow you."

MacCready nodded.

"Okay, so we got about two hours before sunrise." MacCready said. "I'd prefer to get them past the airport before the sun really starts rising and it becomes really fu-freaking difficult to sneak an entire settlement's worth of people past the Brotherhood. They've got their heads up in the clouds, after all." He gestured to the sky, referencing the Brotherhood's supply of Vertibirds.

"How far away are we from the target?" Bleach asked. MacCready checked his watch. He was proud of the thing. Lucy had given it to him, all those years ago. Happier times.

"I've been schlepping it for about an hour and a half. So I think we got about fifteen minutes more or so. And it's about two hours from Salem to the Castle. And since we're trying to take the long road, that means it will be bright out by the time the packages are safe in the Castle." He looked at them. "Any of you know Barney Rook?"

"No idea." Bleach said. "He our contact?"

"Yeah…" MacCready said. Great. If Barney didn't know they were coming, he was bound to try to shoot them on sight. He took a deep breath. "Stay behind me. I'm on point, and we'll get to Rook and Salem in no time. That's the easy part. The hard part is getting the people to come with us."

"Yeah. On your lead, chief." Bleach said.

Despite it only being about fifteen minutes of walking, it was the most tense experience of MacCready's life. He half expecting to hear the tell-tale buzzing of Stingwings, or even the growling breath of a stalking Deathclaw. Deathclaw were smarter than humans half the time, it seemed. He still remembered one of his first missions with the Gunners: they'd been assigned to raid this old ship somewhere in the Capital Wasteland. There was a corpse of a Deathclaw in the middle of the tanker. But when one of the guys got close, that was when they all realized that the Deathclaw wasn't dead; it was just playing.

MacCready had been the only one that'd made it out alive.

Soon, he saw the lights in the distance that were attached to Barney's turret defense system. He knew that the turrets were coded to go after Mirelurks, and he wasn't about to stick around long enough to figure out where they were. Mirelurk Hunters liked lurking out here at this time of the day; they would love sinking their teeth into any of the four of them at this rate.

And then he heard the chittering sound.

He barely had time to move before the Mirelurk popped out of the ground in front of him, its claws brandished and ready to sink into his flesh. He hit the ground hard, and rolled out of the way right before the claw stabbed into the ground where he'd been.

"Lurks!" Chum barked, turning his assault rifle towards the creature. He fired off a short burst towards the creature, which seemed to do little but make it mad. It went for him next. He wasn't as swift as MacCready.

"Chum!" Bucket shouted, pulling out a combat shotgun and firing at the back of the creature. It squealed in pain as its shell seemed to crack, and then it turned around to face the young Railroad agent.

There was a terrific crack, and the back of the Mirelurk seemed to explode into a puff of green goo and gore. The creature fell over, and after a brief shudder went completely still. MacCready looked up in the direction of the shot as Bleach and Bucket went to tend to the wounded Chum.

"Hold tight, old man!" Bleach said. "Just stay with us!" She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a Stimpak. She jammed it into his thigh, and soon the bloodied Chum stopped thrashing about in pain. MacCready looked at him. He'd taken some nasty gashes across the chest, and there was a cut above his eye. He was alive, but he was in no condition to fight anytime soon.

"Goldurnit, get your asses in here before the others show up!"

The voice was crotchety, grumpy, and highly familiar. MacCready looked in the direction of the voice. The early morning haze made it impossible to see perfectly, but he could make out the silhouette of someone standing on the roof of a nearby building. There was only one person in Salem that was crazy enough to hop the roofs like that.

"Grab Chum and follow me." MacCready said. "We're gonna make a beeline for the house." He pointed to a house at the far end of the city, where there was a large protective fence and several turrets. Bucket and Bleach wordlessly nodded, and then lifted Chum up. Without another word, the quartet made their way to the unlikely sanctuary.

Barney Rook was waiting for them at the gate. He opened it to let them in, and then immediately shut it. He was wearing his regular flannel shirt and jeans, with that knitted beanie atop his head. He'd hastily brought out what little medical equipment he could scrounge, and gave them to Bleach. He turned to MacCready.

"Son, I have to wonder whether you were dropped on your head or whether you were born that dumb. What in the sam hell made you think that sneaking into the city in the dark was a good idea? The crabs _love_ scuttling around at night!"

"Time is kind of important, Barney." MacCready said. "We're here on a pick-up mission. I think you reached out about it?"

Barney scratched his mustache as if rtying to remember. And then his eyes widened.

"You're here for those souls in the church? I didn't think that the General was interested in-"

MacCready put a finger to his lips.

"Loose lips sink ships, Barney. I'm simply here on behalf of an interested party. I'm supposed to transport all of those people out of the church and to the south."

"Towards the Castle." Barney said. He smirked. "I wasn't born yesterday, kiddo. But if you need it to be hush-hush, then it can be hush-hush." But then he frowned. "Where's the army?"

"Army?" MacCready asked.

"You don't mean to tell me that you were planning on getting about fifty people down to the Castle with the three of ya?"

"We have four." MacCready said, somewhat defensively.

"Yeah, grandpa is gonna have to stay put." Barney said. "He's gonna need stitching up to heal from those crab bites. And I'll need to flsu him of any rads. I think I saw some of the crabs bathing in some nasty radwater." And then he shook his head and whistled. "Three people covering fifty. I'm starting to think you _were_ dropped on your head. Whose bright idea was this? Yours? I hope not."

MacCready was about to respond, but then he felt the words die in his throat. Barney might be an oddball, but he wasn't stupid. Fifty people being covered by only three people? It was impossible.

Who'd talked him into this, again?

…

"You're gonna knock them dead, Blue."

He adjusted his uniform, and then turned back to her and smirked.

"If I did that, that might kill the peace talks a little bit. Just saying."

Piper's cheeks flushed red.

"It…it was a joke, Blue."

Blue chuckled.

"I know. So was what I said." I said. He patted the strapped gun on his chest. "I have to think that they're all too busy staring at this thing, anyway. I don't even need to fire a shot."

"Good grief…" Piper muttered. She raised an eyebrow. "What's the plan for today's talking?"

"We're discussing plans on how to cleanse Quincy." Blue said. "It's probably going to be long and difficult. Mostly because at the end of the day we're dealing with jurisdiction issues."

"I…don't follow." Piper said. Blue sighed, and adjusted his cufflinks. He noticed that the sleeve of his coat was starting to thin at the elbow. He'd better get it sewn when he got back to the Castle. He turned to face Piper.

"Well, when you're conducting a military operation that involves more than one army, you have to be delicate. Because there's an awful lot of people that are gonna want to be the hero. And get all the credit for the mission."

"What difference does it make?" Piper asked, thoroughly confused. "Isn't the successful completion of the mission all that matters?"

"I agree with you, Piper." Blue said. But then he rolled his eyes. "But that's forgetting the unseen side of warfare: _politics._ Everyone wants to be the guy that gets the credit."

"That's…that's ridiculous!" Piper sputtered. Blue shrugged.

"Government is politics. Settlements and land spacing is politics." He looked at her pointedly. "Why should war be any different?"

…

"Oh, _Monsieur_ Danse?"

Danse looked up from the desk. Curie was standing in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow.

"Is everything alright, Curie?" He asked. He was confused. It was barely sunrise, why was she up and about? Usually she was one of the better sleepers in the Castle. And considering she spent the majority of the time in the Castle's labs, that usually meant that…something was wrong.

"Oh, nothing!" Curie said. "I was just wondering when you would be talking to the _Monsieur_ out in the Castle veranda?"

At this, Danse set down his pencil. He'd been halfway through a letter to the General. Who the hell wanted to see him at _this_ hour?

"Did he say…what he was here for?"

Curie looked unsure.

"He said he wanted to talk to you about…entertainment?"

At this, Danse felt a horrible dread. He knew exactly who this was. He made a mental note to assign Cait the most menial of labor the next time she was on duty. She'd been mysterious absent…son of a bitch, she _knew_ that this was coming.

"Send him in." Danse said.

He didn't expect Tommy Lonegan to be a Ghoul. Danse tried his best, but he still flinched reflexively in his chair in shock at the sight of the man in front of him. Tommy Lonegan was dressed in a tacky pinstripe suit, and had a massive head of hair on him. It looked perfectly coiffed and everything. Tommy noticed Danse's thunderstruck expression, and cracked a grin.

"I know. I work pretty hard on this 'do." He said.

Danse blinked, returning to reality. He shook his head, and cleared his throat.

"You must be Tommy Lonegan, the proprietor of the Combat Zone?" Danse asked, not even bothering to hide his contempt. Now that he'd gotten over the fact that he was talking to a Ghoul, he could focus on the dirty business that the man was in charge of.

"That's me. And you are?" He asked.

"I am Captain Danse of the Minutemen." Danse said. For a moment he paused, thinking about the strange pride he felt in admitting his rank in the new organization. He'd received a letter yesterday from the General (courtesy of the tireless runner Chibs) that confirmed the appointment, and that after he got back from Diamond City he'd properly promote the Synth. But that would have to wait for now. "But for brevity's sake I will allow Danse. Now, what business do you have with the Minutemen, Mr. Lonegan?"

"Can I have a seat?" Tommy asked. Danse noticed that he was carrying a little beaten-up briefcase. He gestured for the Ghoul to take a seat and pull himself up close. After he'd done so, Tommy cleared his throat. "Your people were awfully nice in getting me here. A lot quieter to travel with a pack of Minutemen than to go it solo. You know?"

Danse didn't respond. He was starting to enjoy letting this snake oil salesman sweat a bit. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course. That would be unprofessional.

"Anyway…" Tommy said. "I've come with a proposition for you."

"Why us?" Danse asked. "Why not Diamond City? Or the Brotherhood?"

"Diamond City isn't too kind with Ghouls." Tommy said. "Though I hear your boss is making headway in getting that taken care of." He snorted. "And the Brotherhood? You kidding me? I'd rather cover myself in blood and dance naked in front of a hungry Deathclaw. At least the Deathclaw will kill me quickly."

Danse tried not to be amused by the comment.

"What is your profession, Mr. Lonegan?" Danse asked, taking out a sheet of paper and beginning to take notes.

"I'm a booker."

"…Booker?" Danse asked.

"You know. Someone who books events." Tommy said. "I used to book cage fights, and I still do but…I wanna expand a bit. And the Minutemen seemed like the people that would be willing to hear me out."

"I find that hard to believe, considering that according to one of freelancers, you have been running death matches for some time now." Danse said. "The Minutemen are invested in improving the future of the Commonwealth. We're not about to add bloodsport."

"First of all, say hi to Cait for me, because I know that that's the little birdie that told you." Tommy said. "And secondly, yeah they were death battles but…" He trailed off. "It was Cait on a several year winning streak, and all the people she offed were strung out Raiders. I was kinda doing the Commonwealth a service!" He said.

"Be that as it may, your past exploits make me skeptical." Danse said. "So you're _really_ going to have to convince me that this is worth my time."

"Okay, so picture this." Tommy said. "People like fun, right? Ways to take their mind off of the horrors and doom and gloom of the Wastes, right? And one of the best ways to play to that is the human love of combat. We've been fighting for ages."

"And it led to a ruined world." Danse said. "You're not off to a good start."

"I wasn't finished, you fuss-pot." Tommy said. "I want to bring my promotion into the civilized world. Not death matches. Legitimate entertainment. Sports entertainment, if you will."

Danse had to admit, the guy was clearly passionate about his stuff. That, and it was so ridiculous that the Synth just _had_ to see where he was going next.

"Sports…entertainment?" Danse asked.

"In addition to boxing matches and mixed martial arts _that don't kill_ , I want to bring back one of the oldest of American traditions." Tommy said. "A combination of athletic feats, spectacle, and storytelling! I want to give the people classic matchups of good and evil!" He reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. Danse took it, and read it. It was a poster.

"…Wrestling?" Danse asked, not even pretending to hide the confusion in his tone.

"Not just wrestling, but _sports entertainment!_ " Tommy said. Danse looked at him and frowned.

"Do you really think that the Commonwealth will be interested in this?"

"Of course!" Tommy said. "A chance to be in the crowd and cheer on your hero as he or she vanquishes a bad man…what could possibly be more American than seeing the good guy win in the end?"

"There's something that's bugging me." Danse said. "What if the good guy goes up against a bad guy, and the bad guy wins? How do you build a story if real life gets in the way?"

At this, Tommy rubbed his hands together and gave a grin.

"That's where the beauty of it comes into play, my friend: we take steps to bend real life. Maybe let the competitors know what story we're trying to tell, and make sure that they play their roles."

Danse finally got it.

"You want to _rig fights?_ " Danse asked, incredulous. "How is that any different than death battles?"

"Uh, for starters it means that we can tell stories that _don't_ involve one guy or both dying in the ring." Tommy said. "Say one night the plucky good guy starts doing well against the bad guy, but then the bad guy cheats! And the ref didn't see it! If you were a paying member of the audience, wouldn't you want to see the good guy win in the end? Get his revenge?"

"I…suppose." Danse said, unable to believe that he was getting sucked into this lunacy.

"That's the beauty of it." Tommy said. "It's not the fact that it's scripted. It's the fact that, just for once, you can see the hero…and the hero _wins._ "

"I imagine that you'd like to keep the fact that this 'wrestling' of yours is scripted a secret."

"It's the law of the land." Tommy said solemnly. "It doesn't matter with boxing."

"Is this all you're planning on doing?" Danse said.

"Well, your General came up to me and told me about baseball."

"Absolutely not." Danse said. "Baseball was a _bloodsport!_ "

Tommy laughed.

"Not the way your boss described it! It was elegant and pretty and sounded as American as killing communists!" He said. "And best of all, no one dies!" He reached into his briefcase, and pulled out an old book. "Here, a peace offering in show of good faith. Read that and tell me that baseball isn't a good idea to bring back to the Commonwealth."

Danse took the worn little book in his hands, and got a glimpse of its title.

 _Men at Work: The Craft of Baseball._

"Who was George F. Will?" Danse asked.

"No idea. Probably some old fuddy-duddy. But he knew baseball!" Tommy said. He cleared his throat. "I'm not about to make the Commonwealth drenched in blood. I just…I just want people to have something to look forward to instead of always living in fear or just surviving in the end. America was more than just survival. And I want the Commonwealth to be more than just survival. I wanna give it hope, the best way I know how." He looked pleadingly at Danse. "What do you say?"

Danse scratched his chin in thought, and then he spoke.

"Change the name of the Combat Zone to something less…gruesome, and I think we might be able to talk about things." He said. "This is all contingent on the General's approval, though…"

"…But it's not a no?" Tommy asked.

Danse sighed.

"No. It's not a 'no.'"

"Thank you chief!" Tommy said, bursting out of his chair and shaking Danse's hand profusely. "Oh man, I got so much work to do! I gotta write out rules and regs and…man, I got work! Till next time, Captain!" He gave a goofy salute, and Danse just wordlessly repeated the gesture to make the Ghoul happy. As Tommy practically sprinted out of the office, Danse just stared after him, and shook his head.

What a crazy man. And negotiating sport wasn't exactly his own cup of tea. He wished that he was with MacCready right now. The kid was a good shot, and he was most likely sitting in Diamond City shooting the breeze and shooting bottles. Not a bad life.

…

Barney cut the locks to the church with a large pair of bolt cutters. As the chains fell to the ground, he glanced over at the kid.

"All yours, sonny." He said.

Wordlessly, his partner opened the door.

There were so many of them. Men, women, children, and what looked like some old generation Synths that had managed to escape. As soon as the door opened, they all turned to face him. Young, old, synthetic, it didn't matter. All of them had the same expression in their eyes.

Tired.

Haunted.

Afraid.

One of them came up to him. It was a kid, no older than six. She looked way younger than Shaun back at the base. She grabbed the bottom of his longcoat, and looked up at him.

"Are you here to save us, mister?" She asked.

He looked at her, and then at the people all in front of him. And then he looked behind him at the two brave souls that had chosen to come with him. And then he took a deep breath.

"Yeah. Yeah we are, kid." MacCready said.

A/N: A little dramatic irony, as Danse has no idea that he's about to have a bunch of Institute people dropped on his doorstep. If they can make it, of course.

And yes, I warned you that I'd be bringing in the obscure characters. But I don't think you expected me to bring in ol' Tommy Lonegan and turn him into Vince fucking McMahon, didja? Oh, to be able to play with underserved characters…truly this is the life.

Next chapter we return to Diamond City. As Blue said before, it isn't about whether Maxson finds out about the Institute remnant in the Commonwealth…it's all about _when._

See you next time!


	9. Returns

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"So what's the plan, chief?"

MacCready turned to look back at Bleach. Chum was resting at Barney's house, which left him with only Bleach and Bucket to transport what looked like fifty VIPs. He'd had to escort a few people every now and then during his time with the Gunners, but the difference there was that the Gunners always outnumbered their escort. This wasn't just difficult; it was basically impossible. What was it that had made him agree to this again?

He ignored Bleach's question, and turned towards the crowd.

"Anyone good with a gun?" He shouted. "Got ammo? Weapons? Anything?"

He got nothing but silence and confused looks. One of the people stepped forward. She was wearing a lab coat, and it was spattered with dirt and maybe blood. He wasn't sure what the rustic color was.

"…We're scientists, not soldiers." She finally said.

"Yeah so was the guy that made the atom bomb." MacCready said. "There has to be some way that you all got here in one piece. The Commonwealth is too unforgiving for you all to have snuck out in the cover of darkness."

He hesitated. Asking this very question felt like intentionally drawing bile up from his gut. But it needed to be asked.

"…Do you have any security personnel with you? You know…Synths?"

The scientist lady looked at him, and then turned towards the crowd.

"We have a few Gen-Is. And there's a Gen-II, but he's missing an arm." She pointed to the group. The Gen-II was busy trying to tinker with the wiring that was sticking out of the Gen-I Synths. There was something incredibly creepy about the plastic face and lifeless expression on that thing's face. At least the Gen-Is were obviously robots. And sure enough, the Gen-II had its right arm missing. There were signs of battle damage on all of them.

"Nothing else?" MacCready asked. "Nothing bigger? No Coursers?"

"No." The scientist said. "I don't think a single Courser got out of the Institute. They died fighting those terrible people that destroyed our home."

MacCready bit his tongue, ignoring the fact that it was the very existence of the Institute that had determined its destruction. He just shook his head, and looked through the crowd.

"You don't need to know my name." He began. "And I'm not gonna mince words to any of you." He cleared his throat. He glanced out the window, and checked the watch that Blue had given him (after setting it in correspondence to the internal clock on the Pip-Boy 3000 strapped to his wrist). Still some time before sunrise…and the first Brotherhood patrol. "Any stories that you've heard about the Commonwealth? Wasn't an exaggeration. This place is meaner than any of you, and it already hates you because of what you stood for and represented."

"But we were trying to save humanity!" The woman said. MacCready just glared at her. He was young, but MacCready had seen the sorts of things that an isolated academic like this woman could never understand or fathom. It was the kind of glare that silenced even the hardest of people.

"That's irrelevant." MacCready said. "The entire Commonwealth would rather see you all burn." He said, lowering his voice to a whisper on that last line. And then he spoke up. "It is my job to get you all to the south. There's an old fort on the waterfront. The Castle. That's the home of the Minutemen. That's your safe haven."

"But the Minutemen destroyed our home! Why would we go with them" One person shouted in the back. There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the crowd.

"Because your other alternatives are trying to last here in this old church with no food, water, or defense, waiting for the Mirelurks to break in…or you take your chances with the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood will kill you. At least the Minutemen will listen to you before they decide your punishment, if any at all."

He couched his words carefully. Blue had been adamant that he not say a single thing that revealed that he was connected to the Minutemen. If even a slightest rumor leaked out, then Maxson and the Brotherhood might freeze the talks altogether. Needless to say, this was the most important job in the Commonwealth, and he was the most important man in the world.

And all he had to do it with were a few broken Synths and two others.

"Look, I'm not gonna pretend that I like you. The Institute has a bad rap, and the fact that you never explained yourselves doesn't help. But I'm not a monster. And I won't see helpless people rot in an abandoned building." MacCready pulled back the action on his sniper rifle, ejecting a spent shell casing and getting everyone's attention with the sharp _clack_ sound in the night. "And I'm getting you out of here." He turned to Bleach and Bucket. "Go through the crowd, see if there is anyone injured. See if there's anyone that's sick. Two muntes, tops. Go."

He walked over to the Gen-II Synth.

"Can any of them fire weapons?" He asked. The Gen-II turned to face him and stared blankly.

"Units 03-995, 03-994, and 03-993 are not authorized to handle firearms." The Gen-II said. "They are equipped with the standard issue electro-baton."

Great. That basically left him.

"What about you?" Can you fire a gun?"

"Affirmative. However, the loss of my arm has rendered my equilibrium unstable."

"A machine pistol it is, then. Just point and spray." MacCready said. He turned to the crowd of people. "Can I get a guarantee that this thing isn't going to just plug me in the back as soon as I give it a weapon?" He asked. One of the scientists walked over, and stared the Gen-II in the eye.

"Unit T-1139. Authorization code Alpha-Bravo-Charlie." He said. "This man here is an authorized director. Follow his instructions to the letter, unless otherwise ordered by him."

MacCready watched the vacant look in the thing's eyes only grow more pronounced, and he shuddered. The idea of overwriting something's coding like that seemed like it was rewriting one's own personality. One's own self. He wondered if there was ever a danger of that happening to that fusspot Danse. Blue had made it damned clear that Danse was no one to be afraid of. So MacCready was willing to trust him. Even if he never got along with Danse.

But then again, trusting Blue was what got him into this suicidal mission in the first place, so maybe the General's judgment wasn't bulletproof.

He took the submachine gun he'd slung to his hip and tossed it to the Gen-II. The machine stared at the weapon quizzically, and then nodded.

"We've got 50 people total." Bleach said. "A few surface cuts here and there, but there isn't anyone that can't walk or thinks that they can't run."

"Good." MacCready said. "I'll be on point. Give me the women and kids under eighteen. The men go with the two of you. Three groups. We move intermittently. I take point, and I'll signal with this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled up fabric. It was an old American flag. Blue had found the thing. When MacCready had asked him where he'd found it, Preston (who'd accompanied Blue), just started laughing and mentioned something about Jamaica Plain. It was also the only time that MacCready had ever seen Blue seriously _annoyed_ with something. Like, he'd been the victim of the world's biggest anticlimax.

"When we get in sight of the Castle, then we clump together."

"And what about the Commonwealth and the Brotherhood?" Bucket asked. MacCready sighed.

"Just pray to whatever god you think cares…and hope that we don't run into any of them."

…

"We could come in with your Vertibirds in full force, and just open up with the miniguns."

"Out of the question. I don't intend to destroy this city in order to save it, Mayor. You're not much a soldier, are you?"

"Nope. Just an elected official. What do we know about warfare?"

"Enough that your type tended to boss soldiers around quite frequently back in the old world."

"Heh. I like this Proctor of yours, Elder. Her jokes have some legs."

"…Hancock, that was really mean. You need to apologize at once."

"What? Are you suggesting that I was making fun of the fact that most old-world politicians are lamer than Proctor Ingram's legs?"

"Hancock!"

"No, no. It's *snicker* pretty funny. I'll give him that one."

"Can we _please_ get back to work?"

Elder Maxson's annoyed outburst shook Piper out of her reverie. She'd been watching that volley go back and forth between Hancock, Proctor Ingram, and Preston so much that she'd forgotten to write anything down. Truthfully, she was surprised that the Ghoul was even getting away with half of the things that he was saying to the Brotherhood. If anything, the only thing that she could conclude was that there was some sort of deity that watched over crazy, drug-addled Ghouls…and the sheer audacity was the only thing saving him. Maxson wasn't really enthused by any of Hancock's jokes…but it was clear that Ingram found some degree of humor in them.

Also, Hancock was their ticket into getting soldiers safely quartered in Goodneighbor, which was a lot deeper into the Commonwealth than the airport or the Prydwen. So perhaps they were humoring him for the sake of keeping their potential postings in Goodneighbor.

They were all staring over a map of Quincy. It was laid out over the table, and Piper was really impressed with the detail. Somehow, someone had been able to sketch out an accurate rendering of the city grid, and through the use of some game pieces the Brotherhood and Minutemen elite were getting a proper feel for the placement of enemies in the area. The sight of the little green plastic men on the table was pretty funny, but considering Maxson's tendency to get angry Piper was terrified to make any note of it.

The fact that the Elder was staring at the board with _utmost seriousness_ about the whole affair without at least chuckling over the fact that they were playing with little plastic figurines was only making it harder for her not to laugh.

"There's a near-unending supply of raiders that seems to float towards Quincy." Preston said. "They're not the real danger, other than the fact that they're stupid and poor in tactics but equipped with big guns. The Gunners that hold the southern half of the city are the ones that are really the problem."

"I've heard rumors." Elder Maxson said, breaking his reverie. "That the Gunners are as good as they are at holding territory because they have prior experience in defending the Commonwealth. That they were once Minutemen before betraying the cause." He stared pointedly at Preston. "Is that true?"

Preston stared at the Elder, and it was clear from the scowl on his face that it was an open wound for his pride.

"They were traitors." Preston said. "They betrayed the principles of the Minutemen."

"And yet it appeared that the majority of the standing force of the Minutemen went with them to Quincy and decided to stay there." Maxson said. "So were they really betraying the cause, or were they the accurate representation of what the Minutemen believed at the time?"

Preston was silent, but Piper had never before seen the cold fury that was now clear in the Minuteman leader's eyes.

"I'm not suggesting your own conviction is suspect, Mr. Garvey." Elder Maxson said. "I'm simply stating a fact: with the exception of recent actions, the Minutemen weren't exactly the most reliable group in the Commonwealth. The Brotherhood of Steel has never had such issues."

"And I assume the Outcasts in the Capital Wasteland are to be forgotten?"

Everyone turned to face Blue. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet the majority of the afternoon, instead choosing to quietly take a sip from his bottle of Nuka Cola Cherry throughout the meeting. Arthur Maxson turned towards Blue, and he looked positively offended.

"Ex _cuse_ me?" He asked.

"The Outcasts that were brought back into the fold of the Brotherhood after the death of Elder Owyn Lyons?" Blue asked. "Doesn't that prove that the Brotherhood has had issues with keeping their ranks from splintering?"

Maxson was silent, clearly stewing in his seat. Blue shrugged.

"I'm not saying that the Brotherhood is _bad_ because they had a schism within their ranks; I'm just saying that it's unfair to accuse the Minutemen of being unable to keep their house in order without recognizing that you've had that issue too."

Maxson was silent, but the fact that he was silent proved the point that Blue was trying to make.

"Let's get back to the point." Proctor Ingram said. "We need to figure out how to get into that city. The north is the only way in, and I don't think anything short of a full frontal assault is going to get anyone out."

"I don't want to lose any more Vertibirds." Maxson said. "We've suffered too much damage just flying past that city."

"Then perhaps the best course of action is an ultimatum." Blue said. "Send fliers into the city. Warn anyone that wants to get out that this is their last chance."

"And what happens to those that we can't get out?" Elder Maxson asked. Blue shrugged.

"Then we fight." Blue said. "If they're so willing to die over what's left of that city, then we can oblige them."

"You sound like you're suggesting that we need to level that city." Maxson said.

"Perhaps not level, but at least soften it up so that the ground troops can get into the buildings and start driving them out building by building." Blue said.

"If you want a massive first punch, we have Liberty Prime on standby." Elder Maxson said.

"No." Blue said. "I think there's been enough radioactive fallout around here. There are other ways to soften the defenders up."

"You mean our artillery?" Preston asked. Blue smirked.

"I mean our artillery."

Maxson once again smiled, and Piper shuddered as she once again thought of how similar he looked to a smiling Deathclaw.

…

The sun was starting to set on the longest day of his life. MacCready checked to make sure that his rifle was fully loaded, and slowly peered out from around the corner. There was an old convenience store in front of him, but it was clear that it was occupied. He wasn't sure what it was, but considering the smell of blood hanging in the air, there was something that wasn't friendly.

He glanced back behind him. He knew that there were roughly fifty people behind him, all pressed low to the ground and praying that nothing would see them. MacCready didn't have the luxury of time; the longer they were all out in the open, the longer something disgusting and awful was going to smell them and have a hell of a dinner. It was just by the grace of fate that he'd managed to get them all out of "Deathclaw Country," as the bitter citizens of Outpost Zimonja referred to the northern Commonwealth, without finding any of those beasts. But that didn't mean that there weren't still some Deathclaws hidden elsewhere. This was the Commonwealth after all.

There was a noise coming from the shop. MacCready whirled back around and pointed his rifle towards it. The door to the shop opened, and he watched with a sinking pit in his stomach that there was a Super Mutant that had staggered out of the building. That meant that there were others in there, no doubt. But then he saw something in the Super Mutant's arm.

Cradled in its left arm was a mini-nuke.

MacCready looked back towards the Super Mutant, and then towards the others that were hiding behind him. Bleach and Bucket did a good job of disgusing and hiding the others, even the kids. But he hoped that they were all properly protected, because MacCready was about to do something incredibly stupid.

He popped out of cover, raising his rifle. He peered down the scope, and shouted.

"Hey, ugly!"

The Mutant turned to face him, and growled when it recognized that a human was shouting at it. It pressed a button on the warhead in its hands, and soon that hellish beeping began.

But MacCready had been counting on that. As soon as he saw the red light flashing, he fired.

The bullet struck the Super Mutant somewhere in the crook of its elbow, right at the nerve. The beast roared in pain, and turned to clutch at its damaged arm. But in doing so, it dropped the mininuke. The Mutant barely had enough time to realize what it had done when the blasting cap struck the ground.

A terrific explosion lit up the night sky. It blew out the front of the building save for parts of the wall, and gave MacCready a good view of the interior. There were four other Super Mutants in there, all of them stunned or seriously injured by having a mini-nuke go off in their face. He knew he needed to make each shot count. So he did. Four shots later, he heard the clicking of an empty clip of bullets…and four more dead Super Mutants with bullet holes where their eyes used to be.

He cautiously stepped forward, and then whipped his rifle around towards the sound what ended up being nothing. He gingerly poked the remains of the Super Mutant berserker that he'd shot first, and then cleared the building. He took out the flag, and clipped it to the wall, up on the second floor of the shop. Within moments, he saw people coming out from hiding and sprinting towards the ruined shop. Bleach and Bucket were on crowd control, ordering the women and children to hide in the area of the shop that hadn't been reduced to rubble. The men were to be out in front, with the Synths standing in front of them as a sort of barrier.

MacCready did a brief headcount, and then sighed. The sun was at high noon now. There was no point in traversing the Commonwealth at dark, when the real uglies came out to play. So he ordered them all to hunker down. He knew that they were a day's travel from the Castle. Maybe. If they were lucky.

They'd gotten lucky today. But he wasn't sure that they'd get lucky tomorrow.

…

Danse had a strange feeling that something was up. The first thought was that the Minutemen detachment that had been sent out to investigate a nearby shipyard hadn't returned yet. And the second was the thought that Shaun was out playing somewhere outside the Castle walls. He'd been pretty adamant that the boy stay inside the Castle while his father was gone, but Shaun was…persistent. Danse had relented, as long as Shaun promised to stay out of sight.

Cait was walking past him, in the middle of her round (grumbling with every step), and then noticed his puzzled expression.

"You okay there, fusspot?" She asked, with a little smirk on her face. Danse had given up trying to tell her to call him by his name. Cait had developed this rather annoying habit, since kicking drugs, of coming up with little nicknames for everyone. They usually weren't that nice…or at least his wasn't. He was many things. But a "fusspot" was not one of them.

"I don't know." Danse said. "I'm just on edge about something."

"Is it the fact that we got the lunkhead out and about?" Cait asked. Despite himself, Danse chuckled. Yes, she was right: he was also slightly worried about letting the Super Mutant Strong mull about the Castle grounds and especially leaving his sight. The abomination was due for a blowup at some point, even though the General seemed to trust him…for whatever reason.

"Perhaps. But maybe if we're lucky he'll step on a landmine while trying to find the milk of human's kindness." Danse muttered. Cait howled with laughter.

"Shite, I don't know what's funnier: the fact that you told a joke or that it was actually funny!" Cait crowed. "Not bad, fusspot. You're really blowing up since becoming the in-house leader of this old stone hall."

At that moment, an explosion rocked them. When they recovered, they saw that one of the houses just outside the Castle had gone up in flames. Several Minutemen were actively fleeing the area.

"We're under attack. Put the Castle on high alert!" Danse shouted. Cait nodded, and raced over to the siren in the center of the compound.

"WAIT!"

They both turned to see one of the Minutemen running up. He looked like hell. His eye was swollen shut, and he was bleeding out of the corner of his mouth. He staggered to the ground, and Danse caught him in his arms.

"Don't…trigger the alarm." The man whispered. "He wants to talk. Or else he'll kill the boy."

Danse felt ice in his gut, and rather unceremoniously dumped the Minuteman on the ground as he raced for the source of the explosion.

Being out of Power Armor made it feel like it took forever to travel, and Danse was panting heavily as he reached the destroyed house. He looked around.

"Shaun?" He shouted. He reached for his hip, and drew the dinky little pipe pistol that he'd remembered to clip to his belt. "Shaun!"

"That's far enough."

The voice was ice-cold and emotionless. Danse felt his blood run cold, and he whirled around towards the source, pointing his gun in the direction of the voice.

Shaun was on his knees, his eyes wild with fear. A pistol was pressed hard against the back of his skull. The man who held the pistol was dressed in dark clothing, a black cloak that reached down to his ankles. It was tattered and torn, but still wearable. The man's eyes were shaded in dark glasses. His skin was brown, and his face expressionless. But Danse finally found his voice.

"Don't hurt the boy." He said.

"I will not hurt the boy. But I will kill him." The man said. "Whether it is done right now or later depends on your cooperation."

"Who are you?" Danse shouted.

"I am Institute Courser Model X6-88." The man said. "I was designed to hunt down escaped Synths. This boy is one of them."

"But I'm not a Synth!" Shaun cried out. He then cried in pain as X6 forced the gun harder into the back of his head.

"Be quiet." X6 intoned.

"Let the boy go, or I will tear you limb from limb." Danse snarled.

"Unlikely. Your muscle mass is not enough to cause that kind of harm to my frame." X6 said. "Your words are as empty as this boy's future. Now, you will help me with my mission. My mission is to defend the Institute, or, seeing that it was destroyed, avenge it. I have hypothesized that there can be only one man that did this. Where is the son of Father?"

"…What?" Danse asked.

"Where. Is. Father's son?" X6 sounded quite angry now. "I did not massacre that patrol of Minutemen in the shipyard only to discover that the traitor is not here. He is here. The likelihood is 97%."

"He isn't here." Danse said. He wanted to fire his gun, but he didn't want to hit Shaun. He couldn't bear to take that risk. A pipe pistol simply wasn't accurate enough, even at this range. And it was nothing compared to the weapon in X6-88's hand. It looked like a massive pistol, similar to the one that the General strapped to his chest. And it was clear that X6 fired this gun.

"Do not lie to me. This boy is here. The boy was designed to get a reaction out of Father's son. The fact that he is here suggests that the man I am looking for is here."

"X6-88, the boy has done you no harm. Let him go." Danse said.

"You may try to bargain with me, but unlike you I do not feel remorse or sympathy." X6-88 said. "I was designed to be a Courser. I hunt for the Institute. And if the Institute is gone…then I shall hunt for sport."

Shaun was starting to cry now. Danse so desperately wanted to get his hands on the monster that was tormenting this boy so much, but felt completely helpless. And then he said it.

"Take me instead."

X6-88 actually raised an eyebrow.

"And what purpose would that serve?"

"The boy is not a Synth. You are mistaken." Danse said. "But I am. I am M7-97. I didn't know that I was one…but I am." He said. "I believed for my whole life that I was a man from the Capital Wasteland who went on to fight the Brotherhood…but I know now that that is a lie. Whether it was by my own choice or not…I escaped and lived the life I've lived. But take me instead. I will lay down my life for that boy." He stared X6-88 in the eye. "Spare him, and I will go." He dropped his pistol.

There was a loud bang, and Danse fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder. The bullet had most likely missed anything vital, and had been a clean shot…but it hurt like hell. He heard a scream. It was Shaun, who was sobbing hysterically. Through pained eyes and gritted teeth, Danse saw X6-88 pistol-whip Shaun to the ground. The Courser stepped callously over the boy's body, and then pointed his gun towards Danse.

"An unwise policy to disarm yourself in front of a Courser." He said. "No more debate. I'm going to kill you now, since you cannot help me. And then I will kill the boy. And then I will find his 'father,' and kill him for killing my Father."

…

Danse heard the shotgun rack, and barely had time to turn before the roar of the gun knocked him to the ground. The shot caught X6-88 in the side, shredding his jacket and scattering his gun to the ground. His glasses had been knocked off, and Danse got a look at the steel-grey eyes that had been behind them. It was then that Danse heard a banshee-like shriek, and Cait leapt over him, landing a wicked right cross to X6's jaw. The Courser staggered, but recovered and hit Cait back. He was bleeding and one of his arms seemed to be covered in buckshot, but he was still standing. Back and forth Cait and the Courser traded blows and blocks. Danse took the opportunity to crawl over to Shaun. The boy was clutching his face, sobbing in pain and fear. Danse managed to grab him, and pulled him close.

There was a cracking noise, and Cait staggered back, clutching her nose. X6-88 finished with a ruthless combo across the chest and then the side of the head, and the pride of the Combat Zone went down hard. X6-88 snarled, and pulled out a sidearm: a little derringer.

"You should not have interfered." He spit.

He never noticed the figure that seemed to rise behind him.

There was a roar, but it was unlike any gun ever fired. Danse watched in awe and horror as X6-88 was grabbed by the scruff of the neck, and then lifted high in the air and slammed into the ground. He was twisted awkwardly, a clear sign that his back was broken, but his conquerer was not finished. The beast grabbed X6-88 by the head, and lifted him up off the ground. Danse remembered to shield Shaun's eyes as Strong gouged X6-88's eyes out with his thumbs, and then forced his hands together as hard as he could.

It was a sound like a melon being smashed on the ground.

And then there was merciful silence.

Strong was panting heavily, the blood dripping from his hands. He wiped them off on his pants as best as possible, and then turned towards Cait.

"Redhead, do you breathe?"

"Broke some of…me ribs." Cait gasped, as she staggered up to her knees. "But I felt worse…" Her eye was swelling shut. She turned to Danse, and the concern was clear in her face.

"You okay, Danse?"

"Get me to Doc Fellows in the Castle, and it'll be alright." Danse said. "It's a clean through shot."

"What the hell happened?" Colonel Shaw raced up to them all, several Minutemen elites behind her. "We heard the explosion and then you ran off without mobilizing anyone, Captain, and _Christ almighty what happened to him?_ " She pointed to X6-88's corpse. Some of the Minutemen started to violently retch as they took in the sight of his remains. Danse managed to smile through gritted teeth.

"Strong happened." He said. Colonel Shaw looked at Strong, who shrugged. She shuddered.

"I am glad that you are on our side, Mutant." She said. She turned to Cait and Shaun. "Holy shit, is that the General's son? He's going to need medical attention _immediately._ As will the rest of you!" She turned to some of the hardiest Minutemen. "Get the boy and Cait here to Doc Fellows. Someone get a Stimpak for Captain Danse here. Move!" She grabbed Shaun from Danse, and led the troupe back to the Castle for emergency medical treatment. Danse felt the numbing sensation of the Stimpak take hold, and thanked the Minuteman for the boost. He'd be okay until he got real attention.

He staggered back up to his feet. Strong was still standing there, gazing off into the distance. Finally, Danse spoke.

"…Strong?" He asked.

Strong turned to him, and looked somewhat surprised that the man was still there. He tilted his head to the side.

"What is it, tin can?"

Danse ignored the nickname that Strong had fashioned weeks ago as an insult, and sighed. Though the pain was pretty high, Danse was able to speak coherently.

"Why…why did you do that?" He asked. "I'm not complaining, but…"

"Will little man breathe?"

"What?" Danse asked.

"Will little man breathe? Strong not know."

"Yeah…" Danse said, deciphering what the Super Mutant said. "Shaun will be alright. He just got scared pretty bad is all."

"…Strong glad to hear that." The Super Mutant said.

Danse nodded, and started to walk away. And then he heard the Super Mutant speak again.

"Tin can."

Danse turned back around.

"Yes, Strong?"

Strong turned to face the captain.

"Little man ask Strong many questions. Strong not like talking. Not enough killing in talking. Strong not like talking to many people. But Strong not mind talking to little man. Little man ask questions about Strong. Tells Strong that Milk of Human's Kindness can be found. Strong like little man."

Strong pointed to X6-88's corpse.

"Him make little man's eyes leak. Strong not like when little man's eyes leak."

Danse could hardly believe what he was hearing. He only managed to nod dumbly, and then Strong nodded in response.

"Tin can?"

"Yes, Strong?"

"Get bullet out of arm. Strong not want to defeat you if you can't fight fair."

At this, Danse laughed. Despite how much it hurt.

"Alright, Strong. I'll heal up. And then we'll fight one day. Just don't eat me."

"…Strong think about it."

A/N: And we're back! Decided to throw in X6-88 in there, but I fucking hated the guy (and the Institute) so I figured I'd give him a rather ignominious way of dying. Like a combination of Khan getting Admiral Marcus in Star Trek or The Mountain getting the Viper in Game of Thrones. (spoilers) And we get signs that, despite the massive amounts of muscle and lack of brainpower, there is a beating, working heart under Strong's massive frame.

I wonder how Blue will react to all of this. He's usually pretty unflappable, yet fiercely protective of his son.

See you next time!


	10. Pulling the String

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

He barely bothered to look up when he heard the door open. Worshippers came at all times of the day, even when he wasn't even in the chapel. And it was the early hours of the morning. Some of the more devout members of the congregation that he was growing would come at this time. Pastor Clements wasn't really picky about when, just that they came all the same.

But even he had to note the General of the Minutemen walking into the chapel.

"You're up awfully early, sir." He said. He was sitting at his desk, poring over one of the few religious texts that had survived the bombings and the subsequent decades afterwards. Religion in the Wasteland didn't necessarily die in the aftermath of the great flash, but when the world seemed like it was literally out to kill you, the thought of what comes afterwards wasn't really on the forefront of anyone's mind. And there were plenty of people who took religious texts and twisted them into some sort of foolish doomsday cult. This was all the work of an angry and vengeful god, and the leader of each cult was conveniently the one that would lead the unwashed masses to the future, only if they didn _everything_ that the cult leader said. Pastor Clements always felt the urge to roll his eyes when he heard stories of those groups.

God didn't kill the world. Man did.

"Sometimes I can't sleep, Pastor." The General said. "Thinking about that deal with the Brotherhood has a way of doing that."

"Then perhaps I should add prayers for a restful night in your case in addition to the prayers I already throw up." Pastor Clements said with a tired smile. At this, the General raised an eyebrow.

"You're praying about this?"

"Of course. I'm a pastor, you know. What more can I do but pray for cooler heads and the like?" Pastor Clements said. But then his smile faded a bit. "But you wouldn't be coming here in the early hours of the morning, long before Maxson and the Brotherhood woke up, unless there was something on your mind. Would you?"

"You read me pretty well, Pastor." The General said. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat. His eyes darted to the ground, and then back to the pastor. "Do you…do confessional here?"

Pastor Clements chuckled.

"Son, this is the _All-Faiths_ Chapel. Of course I know 'bout confessional. Granted, I don't have one of them booths that they had back in the day…but my office would work. I'll lock the door so that no one else hears whatever it is that you gotta say."

…

"There she is."

Danse struggled not to roll his eyes as Doc Fellows pulled out the slug. The doctor was a strange fellow; hair that went down to his hips, and he didn't really seem interested in cutting it. He also dressed a little bit shabby for a doctor, in the Captain's opinion, and more often than not he lapsed into little phrases in a language that Danse didn't recognize. Nor did anyone else on base. Whenever you asked, he just winked and said "Cajun." No one knew what a "Cajun" was, or where "Cajuns" could be found, and Doc Fellows seemed more interested in irritating people than answering.

It was pretty early in the morning. Danse had been adamant that Shaun and Cait get treatment first, even if that meant he had to wait. Danse didn't need to sleep much, anyway. He spent some of the night doing paperwork (and trying not to bleed over the General's desk), and then continually administered Stimpak injections. He had gambled that eventually the body would push the slug out so that Doc Fellows could pull it. He was right, thankfully, though Curie had told him such a hope was rather foolish. _A bullet is not like a sliver!_ She had chastised him.

"You're lucky that that Synth was carrying a pea-shooter." Doc Fellows said. "It was a clean shot. Just resting in front of your shoulder bone."

"You're telling me _that_ was a pea-shooter?" Danse asked, wincing as he rotated his shoulder. It sure hurt worse than a pea.

"Yep." Doc Fellows said. "I treated a couple fellas that got pegged by Coursers. Usually the first slug is pellets in plastic, designed to hurt more than cripple. That's the one that gets you talking. Then they hit you with the next one in the chamber: hollow-point lead. That cuts through and messes everything up. Usually kills, because they're aiming for the head. But this?" He held up the bullet, glistening red in Danse's blood. "He must not have had time to grab official weaponry. It's just a well-maintained pipe pistol that he got ya with. You'll be sore and stiff, but keep steady treatments and it'll heal fine."

"Thank you, Doctor." Danse said. "What about the others?"

"Cait will be fine." Doc Fellows said. "Couple of broken ribs, and a swollen black eye. That heals with time. She'll be cranky, but when isn't she?"

"Good point." Danse said. But then his smile faded. "But what about Shaun?"

Doc Fellows said.

"He's not critically hurt, thankfully. And he didn't get blinded from taking a pistol to the temple. That's a strong kid…but he got a cut over his eye." He said. "It's gonna scar up, I'm afraid. Hope he doesn't mind."

"…His father has a scar over his eye." Danse said. "It's not on the same side as the one where Shaun was…hit…but he has a scar too."

Doc Fellows chuckled.

"Then he really is his father's son, isn't he?"

Danse smiled, but he wondered whether Doc Fellows really knew what he was saying when he said that.

…

He found Cait sitting out in the gardens, with an exhausted-looking Sheffield next to her. Danse cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Are you alright?" Danse asked. Cait frowned.

"What, do I look like I got hurt?" She asked. "Me head aches, but I'm fine ya fusspot!" She then smiled. "But thanks for askin'." She turned to Sheffield. "Think you can grow me some plant that stops the swelling?"

Her eye hadn't completely healed, so there was a definite puffiness that kept her from opening it completely. Danse had to admit, she looked pretty funny. Not nearly as pretty with that ugly shiner. Or perhaps prettier, depending on one's personal preferences.

"Sorry, Miss Cait." Sheffield said. "I just grow things. You want medicine, ask Ma'am Curie." He sighed. "She's a handful, but so much fun to work with!"

"Speaking of which, where is Curie?" Danse asked.

" _Monsieur_ Shaun, you look terrible!"

"Aw, come on, aunt Curie, it looks so cool!"

They looked over to see that Shaun was busy showing Curie the scabbed cut over his eye.

"Shaun, I do not see the humor in the fact that you were seriously injured!" Curie fretted, her accent somehow getting thicker the more she worried. Shaun stopped smiling a little bit.

"But I'm okay, aunt Curie. Uncle Danse, Aunt Cait and Strong saved me. I'll be fine, don't worry."

The three quietly watched him digging through some of the equipment that Curie had brought out with her, and Sheffield spoke.

"Pretty tough kid." He said. He then turned to Danse. "So that Super Mutant helped you save Shaun?"

"He didn't just help…" Danse said. He sighed. "He…he was the reason that Shaun was saved. Cait lost the fight to X6-"

"Oy! I didn't lose, I just took a bad fall!"

"-and I couldn't move from that gunshot. But Strong saved Shaun. If not for him…" He shook his head. "I can't believe that my life is in the debt of a Super Mutant. My whole life has been spent eradicating them as abominations, and yet here was one that not only saved me, but saved Shaun because he didn't like seeing Shaun cry." He looked at Sheffield and Cait. "Sometimes I wonder what is even real anymore."

"That's why I drink!" Cait said cheerily. "Seein' as how I don't do drugs or that shit anymore."

"You're not…advocating going back to that, are you?" Danse asked. Cait feverishly shook her head.

"Hell no! Not a chance. I wouldn't go back to that shite for all the caps in the Commonwealth. But I gotta get my vices in elsewhere." She said. "That's what Gwinnett is for." She sighed. "I wish ol' Hancock. He was always the best drinker here in the Castle. 'Cept for me, of course."

"I imagine so." Danse said. He started to smile a bit. Cait looked at him.

"Oy, Danse. You like that shite I gave ya a few days ago?"

"What, the bottle?" Danse asked. He paused, and then thought it over. "Yeah. Yeah, I liked it."

"Good. 'Cuz I got more, and I think the big guy needs a drink in his honor for crushin' that Synth's head like a melon." Cait said. Then her smile got downright devious. "Oh _shite,_ can you imagine Strong drunk? It'll be fuckin' hilarious!"

"I…don't know if that's a good idea for Strong to get drunk."

"What is drunk?"

They all turned to see Strong had sauntered over to them. Danse and Sheffield looked at each other. Sheffield just held up his hands, refusing to get involved in the conversation. Cait looked up at the Super Mutant.

"It's when you drink too much of this delicious drink, and you can't fuckin' walk and you can't see straight and shite!"

"That stupid. Why Strong get drunk? Strong not want to fall. Might _get_ killed, not go killing."

Danse couldn't believe it, but the Super Mutant had more sense than the human next to him right now.

"You're no fun, Strong. You know that?"

"Strong not fun. Being fun not help find Milk of Human's Kindness."

"Perhaps it might help." Danse said, before he could stop himself. "Sometimes kindness is a byproduct of having fun."

Cait stared at the Captain with a thunderstruck expression.

"Did…did you just tell Strong he could fuckin' drink?" She asked. Danse looked stunned.

"No. No I did-"

"Strong get drunk to find Milk of Human's Kindness?"

"No." Danse said, panicking. " _No._ "

"Strong get the most drunk! Strong get most drunk than redhead!"

At this, Cait started laughing hysterically, and Danse wished that he was six feet under.

…

They'd been moving at a breakneck pace for several hours now. The Synths had all stopped carrying weapons and were instead hanging back, helping the scientists and kids that weren't able to set the pace. MacCready risked looking back, but not for long. Somehow it was a miracle that they hadn't run into anything dangerous yet. He looked in the distance, and felt his heart leap into his chest. The Castle was there. Maybe about ten minutes away, but it was there. So damned close.

And that's when he heard it. That damned beeping.

"EVERYONE GET DOWN!" He howled. Everyone behind him hit the deck, while Bleach and Bucket started ushering them to the ground. MacCready whirled around, and saw the Suicider about fifty feet away from him. He only had time for one poorly-timed shot. He whipped out the rifle and fired.

The explosion lit up the morning gloam, and knocked him to his feet.

"KILL THEM ALL!"

A flurry of gunfire erupted from the ridge across the river. MacCready took cover behind a metal wall, and looked back. All of the Institute survivors were out of the line of fire, but if they climbed up to the road they were sitting ducks. MacCready looked across the river. There was a hunting party of Super Mutants on the other side, all of them out in the open and taking pot-shots at him in revenge for the way he'd killed their brother. But they were heavily armored. There was no way he was going to get anything more than a few cursory shots off on them. And he needed to be precise as hell to even knock them down.

He needed a miracle. He needed-

"YO!" He turned back towards the huddled masses of Institute scientists. "Anyone know how to work radios?"

There was silence. And then a young woman raised her hand.

"I do!"

"You! Get up here but _stay down!_ " He said. "I'm gonna need one of the Gen-Is!"

The young lady crawled through the dirty mud and gunk to get up to the road with MacCready. The Super Mutants on the other end of the river were content to laugh and periodically fire shots, convinced that their prey was trapped. It was more fun to play with food than eat it right away.

"What do you need?" The lady asked.

"I need you to hotwire this." MacCready said, pulling out the little radio in his pocket. "Is it _at all_ possible to jury-rig this thing so that I can send a message on it to a specific radio station?"

"Um…maybe?" The lady said. "But you'd need to…" She looked over at the Gen-I. "You'd need to get the radio send-receive transmitter out of one of the Synths…" She looked at MacCready. "You want me to kill this Synth for the equipment in its head?"

"Can you make me a distress signal out of the parts?" MacCready asked.

"…I think so." The lady said.

"Then _do it._ " MacCready said. "Otherwise we're all gonna die here. Either in a few minutes when the Muties decide to cross the river, or in a few seconds when one of them remembers that they carry grenades."

The Institute woman paled, but then nodded. She turned to the Gen-I next to her, and the tears started to run down her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, R2…" She whispered.

She reached behind the back of the Synth's uncovered head, as it stared at her unblinking and expressionless, and she flipped the switch. The thing went limp. She was sniffling as she pulled out the send-receive transmitter, and in mere moments she started to tinker with the little radio that MacCready had given her. He watched as she siphoned wires from the deactivated Synth as well as the interior of the radio. Finally, she plugged in the remaining wires.

"That's it." She said. "Wire it to your station, and start speaking. I hope it's worth it."

"Lady, you are a genius." MacCready said. He reached for the little recorder.

…

Jonathan yawned. He was pretty tired, despite usually getting up this early whenever he needed to do the radio announcements for the Minutemen. He saw that the Captain was out and about, and that the General's kid was okay. So that made Jonathan happy. He wasn't that old himself, but the General always felt kind of fatherly towards him. For a man that had grown up by himself and was now one of the most trusted Minutemen in the Castle, Jonathan was pretty happy with his lot in life.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and then the message came in.

 _"MAYDAY, MAYDAY! I NEED IMMEDIATE AIR SUPPORT, DANGER CLOSE, COORDINATES ALPHA BRAVO, SECTOR TWO!"_

Jonathan was knocked out of his chair, which caused Danse to run over.

"What's going on?" Danse asked. "And is that…MacCready? What is he doing broadcasting?"

"No idea, sir!" Jonathan said. "But he sounds serious." Danse nodded. He then turned towards one of the Minutemen that was standing up near the watchtowers to the north.

"Private! Get out a telescope, and see what's going on out in sector two!"

"Aye, sir!" The Minutemen shouted. He disappeared from sight, and then peered back over the battlements. "Sir! There's a whole hunting party of Muties out there, firing on an unknown party!"

"Jonathan, if you can, radio in so that MacCready hears you."

"On it, sir!" Jonathan said, his tiredness melted away.

…

MacCready was about to give up hope when he heard static coming from the radio.

" _This is Radio Freedom. Can we confirm the identity and validity of this request?"_

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT JONATHAN YOU DAMN WELL KNOW IT'S ME!" MacCready roared, his exhaustion and panic hitting a breaking point. The longer they wasted, the higher the likelihood the Brotherhood would send out an investigative team…and everything would go to pot. "I NEED AN AIRSTRIKE, DANGER CLOSE ALPHA BRAVO, SECTOR TWO! NOW! _**NOW GODDAMN IT, NOW!**_ "

There was a pause.

" _Affirmative. Airstrike inbound. Get to cover, Mac!"_

MacCready turned towards the crowd of civilians behind him.

"Everyone get down!" He shouted. He turned to the lady next to him. "You. Just duck and pray."

She nodded fearfully, and went fetal.

And then came the artillery.

…

"…I don't know, Pastor. Is it right for me to do something such as this?"

Pastor Clements was silent for a moment. That gave the General a chance to speak again.

"…I was raised to be a man that was always on the straight and up, as well as someone that always tried to do the best for everyone in the end." Blue said. "But…I'm at a crossroads where I must tell a lie in order to protect a greater truth. I have done everything in good faith, but here, at the crossroads of the largest and most important aspect…I must lie. But I lie for the greater good. Is that not acceptable in the end?"

"The truth is the greatest of all salves, you know." Pastor Clements said. "We don't get to pick and choose the moments when it applies to us."

"I know." Blue said. "But this…isn't it better in the end?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Pastor Clements said. Blue raised an eyebrow.

"Not very helpful, you know."

"Hey, I might run this place, but I am not the Almighty, nor am I omniscient like He is. So whatever His relationship with you is between you and Him. I'm just here for spiritual guidance. I know that you are a good man, General, which is why it is admittedly troubling to hear that you are considering something of this magnitude."

At that moment, there was a rumbling in the distance.

"Those…those are the guns." Blue said. Panic gripped him. "I…I have to go!" He stood up. "I'm so sorry, Psator, we'll continue this at another time but I have to-"

"Son."

As Blue was halfway out the door, Pastor Clements looked him in the eye.

"It doesn't matter what you've done at this point. Nor does it matter who's done what to who, or for what reason. Fact is, you're fighting for the future of civilization in the Commonwealth, I guess. Either it's going to go one way or the other. There's no going back. And if the good that you are trying to build is based on a lie, then…then I suppose that is the hand you are dealt." His stare cut Blue to his core. "But you had best be prepared to fight on that lie. If there's one thing that the Almighty doesn't look kindly upon, it's someone that has no conviction. So fight on that lie, if this all matters that much to you."

Blue nodded, and sprinted out the door.

…

There was a flurry of activity outside. Elder Maxson was in front of the _Public Occurrences_ , and he was livid. There were several Brotherhood initiates that were flanking him, as well as Hancock, Preston and a few Minutemen there.

"Open up, reporter!" Maxson snarled. "I know that he's in there, the snake!"

"Go away!" Nat shouted from the inside of the house. The door opened a crack, and Piper peeked her head out.

"Well, he isn't, so you're going to have to wait for him to get back."

"I don't have time for games, reporter." Maxson said. "I want to know why there are explosions in the distance coming from the Castle, when your General explicitly promised that there would be no discharges from the guns! Now _where is he?"_ Maxson thrust his foot forward, kicking the door in and sending Piper falling to the ground in a cry of shock and pain.

 _CLACK._

The sound was like a silencer of all other noise. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Everyone turned to face the source of the sound. Slowly, Maxson turned around to see what was going on.

Blue was standing in the center of the square, having come up behind everyone. He was roughly ten feet from the Elder, and his eyes were cold and resolute. But that wasn't the reason why everyone was staring and gawking. As Piper rubbed her nose and climbed back up to her feet, she got a good look and then flinched back in fear.

Blue had drawn his gun.

It was somehow even more monstrous in his hand than it was clipped to his chest. A powerful .44 Magnum that was capable of blowing someone's head clean off. Six shots, more than enough to kill anything that moved. It was pointed right between the eyes of the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.

There was silence, and then Maxson spoke.

"You have some _nerve_." He said. "To pull a weapon on me, in front of my own soldiers?"

"Step away from the door and Piper, and I promise I lower the gun." Blue said. "But you hurt her and I will not hesitate to pull the trigger."

There was a pause. And then Maxson slowly stepped back from the door. Blue, true to his word, holstered the pistol. It was like a collective exhale across the town square.

"What's going on?" Blue asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing." Maxson said. "From my position in the Upper Boxes, I could see flashes of fire in the distance. The only thing that could make such a massive explosion is one of your artillery guns. So I want to know what on earth would make you order such a strike in the middle of a tense atmosphere such as the one we find ourselves in."

"…I don't know what you're talking about." Blue said.

" _Bullshit!_ " Maxson snarled. "What kind of leader are you that doesn't know every little detail of everyone underneath you? That you aren't in control of your own men? How can I respect a man that isn't always in control?"

"Elder…"

"And now I am supposed to carry on these talks in good faith when you can't even keep your people in order?"

"Elder…"

"This was all a waste of my time. And what a shame: I seriously thought that we would have something written out."

" _ELDER!_ "

" _ **WHAT?**_ " Maxson roared, turning towards Proctor Ingram. She was standing next to Preston, who was listening to his radio. He then nodded, and then Proctor Ingram spoke again.

"Colonel Garvey here says that he's getting an urgent message from the Minutemen radio station that the General needs to return to the Castle as soon as possible. Says that something major has occurred and that he needs to return. No time to lose."

Maxson was silent, and then turned towards Blue.

"And you have _no idea_ what is going on?"

Blue took a deep breath.

"No. I have no idea what is going on."

There was another pause. And then Maxson nodded.

"Very well. Let's take my Vertibird."

"'Let's?'" Blue repeated. Maxson looked positively confused.

"You didn't expect me to sit this out while you figured out whatever was happening? I want to see what is going on in person. With my own two eyes. Good faith, after all." He said, his eyes narrowing pointedly.

Blue nodded, and gestured for Maxson to lead the way to the Vertibird.

"Everyone else is to stay in the city!" Elder Maxson barked. "Work out the finer details of the deal while the General and I see…whatever it is that has happened."

He hopped effortlessly into the hold of the Vertibird that was parked in front of the Wall, and then slapped the wall of the ship to signal to the pilot to begin preparations. Blue turned towards the crowd.

"Piper!" He shouted. "Get in here."

"I didn't authorize-"

"We need an impartial journalist, don't we?" Blue asked, daring to smirk. Elder Maxson took another deep breath, and then nodded.

"Fine. Fine. But she is not to touch _anything_ on this ship. _Understood?"_ He turned to Piper, who fearfully nodded.

With that, the Vertibird groaned as it lifted off of the ground, and began its trek through the air towards whatever it was that had happened at the Castle.

A/N: And another chapter in the books! Decided to add a little wrinkle in having the best-laid plans of Blue go a little askew. As for those that doubt the validity of using a radio and Synth tech to create a two-way radio, I did solely for entertainment purposes, not for any accurate purpose. Hope it was still good to read!

So off to the Castle, and in turn we start the endgame of the story! How is Maxson going to react to seeing the Institute remnant (if there's any of them left)? How might he react to seeing Danse? Can these peace talks still survive?

…We'll see…


	11. What We Are in The Dark

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Piper could barely think straight. First of all, she hated flying. There were a few times that she'd been with Blue, back when he was still working for the Brotherhood, that he'd thrown one of those grenades that signaled a Vertibird pick-up. So she'd had experiences with the Vertibirds before. But it was terrible. The first time, she'd thrown up over the side, and most likely splatted some dumb raider down on the ground with her chuke. The second time, she didn't vomit, but she was so sea-sick that she nearly fainted when they landed.

But right now, she was too damned scared to be sick. Blue was standing in the doorway, his hand gripping the safety rail on the ceiling, staring silently out towards the Castle. And Elder Maxson was sitting across from her, staring at the wall next to her. His glare was so frighteningly intense that she hoped he didn't come and look at her, because that might just knock her out.

It was the longest ride of her life. She just closed her eyes and wished for it to be over.

There was a thudding sound as the Vertibird hit the ground in front of the Castle. Arthur Maxson immediately leapt from his seat and started walking towards the Castle. Blue gently grabbed Piper by the hand and led her out of the Vertibird. As soon as her head stopped spinning, she brushed him off and started to walk under her own power.

…

They caught up with Elder Maxson as he entered the staging ground. The Elder of the Brotherhood took one look at the sight in front of him, and then turned around to glare at Blue.

"Who…are _they?_ "

Piper looked past the Elder, whose ears might actually be steaming with rage. There was a crowd of people all sitting in the center of the garden area. Some of them were being treated for injuries. Some of them were being given food. Water. And some of them were wearing lab coats, worn and torn from days on the run. Piper felt her chest heave. These were the remnant of the Institute? They looked so…pathetic. So worthless and directionless.

"I'm afraid that the General can't answer that question." Colonel Ronnie Shaw walked up towards the Elder, with two elite Minutemen flanking her. "Seeing as how he was with you the entire time in Diamond City working out this peace treaty or whatever it is that you call it."

"And who are you?" Elder Maxson glared. Colonel Shaw smirked.

"Colonel Ronnie Shaw, director of military training for the Minutemen and second-in-command to the Captain of the Castle. At your service. You must be Elder Maxson." Her smirk deepened. "You're awfully young for someone of your position. I can still see the wet behind your ears."

"Who. Are they?" Elder Maxson repeated.

"They're claiming to be remnants of the Institute."

Elder Maxson stared at her, his eye starting to twitch. He wiped his nose. Piper wondered what the hell he was doing. And then he reached for the revolver that he kept holstered at his hip.

"And just what do you think you're doing, son?" Colonel Shaw asked. She had casually turned the laser musket so that it was pointing towards the Elder. The two Minutemen elites followed her lead.

"They need to die." Elder Maxson said. "Get out of my way."

"All of them? With that little showpiece?" Ronnie asked. "That's a six-shooter, friend. There's at least fifty of them out there. What are you going to do? Shoot 'em all in one go?"

" _I'll reload._ " Elder Maxson hissed. At this, Colonel Shaw's smile faded.

"Elder Maxson, I respect you for all your accomplishments, and I do admit I'm a tad jealous of all those fancy suits and the big stinkin' guns you Brotherhood types carry, but you aren't touching the refugees."

" _Refugees?_ " Elder Maxson snarled. He then turned towards Blue. "Did you know about these people?"

"No." Blue repeated.

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Elder Maxson said. "You expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of these people? That this is all news to you?"

"…I can't be everywhere in one place, Arthur." Blue said. Piper was utterly blown away with the calm look on his face. He was completely lying to the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. Completely.

"…Then what are you going to do with them?" Maxson asked.

"Don't know." Blue said.

" _DON'T KNOW?_ " Maxson roared. By now, the refugees were all aware that this man in the flight jacket was not their friend. Those that were families were starting to huddle together. "What the fuck do you mean you don't know? They're Institute! Fucking kill them!"

"What would that prove?" Blue asked.

"It'd prove that they're _wrong!_ " Arthur Maxson roared. He turned around and stared them all in the eye. He had lowered his gun, but he was pointing accusatorily towards the clump of refugees. "All of you, _all of you_ , are culpable! Every last one of you perpetuates the very thing that scorched this world and killed billions of people: the advancement of science beyond Man's capability to control it! None of you saw the repercussions of your actions, did you? The people that were kidnapped, the Synths that replaced family members and loved ones. The fear and paranoia that ripped this Commonwealth apart. What was the purpose? Science for the sake of science? The fact that you were 'helping humanity?' Your very existence is proof that we're about to make the same mistake all over again! _And the world can't survive a second time!_ "

He turned back towards the General.

"You're just going to let them sit here? Sit there and leech off of you and the work you have done to help heal this shattered world?" Maxson said. "No. I won't let you. Why aren't you joining me? This is something that needs to be done. Help me get rid of them!"

"What would that prove?" Blue asked again. His voice was more forceful this time. Piper realized that she wasn't breathing. She took a deep breath.

"It's proof that they won't make the same mistakes that doomed the world." Maxson said. "And it sends a message that the monstrocities they committed won't be repeated. You have no idea what the pain that they've caused this world is. You have no idea what the people of the Commonwealth have suffered. To protect them is to betray the very principles that you claim to stand for-"

" _NO IDEA?_ " Blue suddenly roared. All activity in the Castle seemed to grind to a halt. Everyone was looking at Blue. He stared Maxson in the eye. "You need to stop talking, _boy._ For you have _no clue_ who you're talking to."

He seemed to have grown ten feet. Maxson visibly flinched, and in that moment Piper saw just what it was like to see Blue truly and unequivocally angry. There were veins bulging in his neck, and his eyes were wide. He seemed to be visibly restraining himself from throttling Maxson then and there. But then the moment passed, and he was back to his tired, passive self. It was the most horrifying three seconds of Piper's life, and she'd witnessed a Deathclaw eat another human being alive.

Blue turned towards the huddling group of refugees.

"You took my child from me." Blue said. "You murdered my wife. And then you kept me locked away on ice for however long you wanted. And when I awoke, I found that sixty years had passed and that the infant child that had been ripped from my wife's arms was the man that you called Father!" He let the silence reign. "My son was Father. When I destroyed the Institute, I didn't just destroy the Institute, _I had to kill my own son!_ And he died _**hating**_ me! He cursed my very name!" There was a single tear running down his cheek. "There is nothing more I would like to do then get my revenge. Nothing. More."

He turned to Maxson.

"But that's not the way we do things." He said. "Because doing that is no different than the world that I came from. You don't know what it was like, Arthur. None of you do. The world in the days leading up to the bombs? It was a _shithole!_ Food riots. Gas shortages. Fear. Paranoia. Warfare. _Martial law!_ Any and every myth you've read about how good the ol' US of A was back in the day was complete _bullshit!_ " He took a deep breath. "I'll be damned if this new world goes down that same path. Because that path is paved with what looks like justice. What feels like the right choice. And that path starts with executing people who haven't had a chance to defend themselves." He turned towards Maxson. "We put them on trial. We give them a chance to explain themselves. And we let the people of the Commonwealth decide their fate."

"How can we do that?" Elder Maxson asked. The anger had faded from his voice. Now there was a frustrated confusion. Piper noticed that his frustration no longer seemed to be directed at the General, but rather at the situation. "There's no context for their crimes. The people of the Commonwealth won't be able to understand the rationale, nor will they see the fairness, if there was such a thing. You'd be leaving them to mob rule. Just killing them would be a mercy compared to what a mock trial would do for them."

"You're right, they won't." Blue said. "So we'll have someone explain it to them."

"…Who?" Elder Maxson asked. Blue cleared his throat.

"Dr. Brian Virgil." He said. "He's taken refuge in the Glowing Sea. If we can get him, he will help. He escaped the Institute. He'll help us."

"Do we know that he's still alive?" Elder Maxson asked. "The Glowing Sea is hell on earth."

"He's still alive." Blue said. "I spoke with him last week. I can convince him to come out of hiding and help us deal with them."

Elder Maxson was silent for a long time. He stewed in thought. And then he turned towards the Institute remnant.

"Consider yourselves lucky. This act of mercy granted upon you is more than any of you deserve."

He spat bitterly on the ground towards them. He then looked at Blue.

"We need to return to Diamond City. I want to sign this damned treaty and get it all over with."

…

He watched the Vertibird take off in the sky through the window, and he let out a sigh. As far as he knew, Maxson hadn't seen him. Thankfully, that meant that he could come out of hiding. He hated it, but at the same time, he highly doubted that Maxson would have appreciated seeing him out there while he was raving about the Institute remnant. He would have added fuel to the fire.

Danse opened the door, and walked out onto the staging ground. He was decked in his best Minutemen uniform: a tailored blue suit that looked like the General's uniform, but not nearly as regal. The Captain of the Castle wasn't quite on the same level as the General of the Minutemen, but it was a position of some importance. At least that was what the Colonel was telling him. Perhaps he'd better start acting the part.

The spurs on the boots were a bit much, though. But Cait had been insistent. "Ain't no fuckin' captain without somethin' special. General got the nice dressin' and all that shite. The Captain gets spurs."

He stopped in front of the Institute remnant, and took in the sight in front of him. They were all sitting down and huddled together, looking at him with some degree of confusion and trepidation. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Welcome to the Castle. I am Captain Danse, and I am in charge of this facility. Any and all authority on this base runs through me, unless the General himself is on station. As he has currently departed, I am the man in charge." He paused in thought. "I will not mince words to any of you. The Institute is accused and suspected of committing horrible crimes against the people of the Commonwealth. And there are many that will want the lot of you dead when they find out your existence. You stand accused of a great magnitude of charges, as well. I cannot speak for your future whenever this trial shall be held, but I can assure you that as long as you remain on site here at the Castle there will be no harm done to you."

"Trial?" One of the elder scientists said. "We haven't done anything wrong!"

There was a brief murmuring of agreement in the group, but then Danse cut it off.

"Tell that to the families who lost loved ones thanks to your kidnapping. Tell that to communities who were torn apart in paranoia as they wondered which of them had been killed and replaced with Synths. Tell that to the many who died as a result of collateral damage thanks to Courser raids to recapture Synths. Tell that to University Point. Tell that to Diamond City, whose own mayor was killed and replaced by a Synth whose sole purpose was to exacerbate racial tension in the Commonwealth and sow discord. And most of all, tell that to the General who just admitted that his own son was kidnapped and brainwashed into believing the message of your Institute at the cost of familial reconciliation." He paused. "Think on these things. And then tell me if you still believe that the Institute has done nothing wrong."

"Captain Danse!" One of the Minutemen said. "We've prepared the catacombs for the refugees."

"Good. Lead them there." Danse said. _And get them out of my sight._ Danse thought to himself, as they were led to their chambers for the evening. He decided to walk up towards the battlements, and get some fresh air away from these people that reminded him of his own inauthentic existence.

But was he really so inauthentic anyway? None of them recognized him as a Synth. None of them said anything. They'd…forgotten about him. Most likely his reactivation code, if he even had one, had been lost to history. Who was he, anyway? All up to this point, he'd been living a lie. And here he was, about to live the rest of his life.

Live. He was _alive._

"Oy."

He turned around, interrupted from his thoughts. It was Cait. She walked up the steps towards the battlement that Danse was standing on. Her eye had blackened, but the swelling had gone down. Her ribs were taped up, and she winced with every step.

"Good evening, Cait." Danse said. She smirked.

"Always so formal, fusspot."

"Being a fusspot is a full-time job in my experience." Danse said. "So I might as well live up to it." At this, Cait laughed.

"You're really gettin' the hang of this! Though your joke delivery is still a bit forced." She said. She then smiled some more. "A far cry from the arsehole you used to be." She then raised an eyebrow. "You know your birthday, Danse?"

"I thought I did." Danse said. "But considering that was most likely a false memory implanted by the Institute, I doubt it was real."

"Then fuck it. Happy birthday!" She tossed him a little rectangular box. It was pretty nice, and it was clasped shut. Danse handled it dumbly, and then stared at her.

"What is it?"

"Well, you gotta open it to figure that out ya doofus!" Cait said. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. She struck a match on the bottom of her boot, and soon was puffing away. Danse opened the box, and then stared at what it was in the inside.

"Is this a…pipe?" Danse asked.

"Figured ya were too classy for one of these things." Cait said, gesturing to her cigarette. "But a pipe? The right proper bit for a fusspot like yerself." She said with a wink. Danse stared at it, and then back at Cait.

"Where did you find this?" He asked. "Cigarettes are rare enough in the Commonwealth. I can't imagine pipes and tobacco are more common."

"Ah, I pulled a few strings and called in a few favors." Cait said. "Far as I'm concerned, you need somethin' to stand out about yerself. Remind ya that there are people that care about you, because they like the fact that you're a big ol' fusspot. Besides…" She took a drag from her cigarette, and then blew the smoke out of her nose. "Don't they say that the mark of a real man is if he smokes a pipe?"

Danse stared at her, his frown slowly giving way to a bemused expression. He took a match from Cait, and then lit it on the bottom of his boot. He gingerly held the flame in the pipe until he could smell the snuff burning, and then he went to work. He was glad that he remembered the important technique of smoking one: don't inhale. He puffed away, and before long he could taste the tobacco. He looked at Cait, who was enjoying her smoke, and then raised an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty sure they say real men smoke cigars, Cait."

"Yeah…but stuffy bastards smoke pipes!"

There was a pause.

"Cait…did you just give me this thing so you have a justifiable reason to call me a fusspot?"

"Boy, you really a smarty pants, Danse!"

Danse just rolled his eyes. But he smiled all the same. Cait laughed too, but soon they were interrupted by another sound. They followed it. Sitting against the artillery piece, his gun resting on his lap, and snoring like gunfire, lay MacCready. He had the look of a man who had been through the toughest day of his life, and had come out on top. Danse and Cait looked at him, and then each other. They smiled lightly, and then walked away to let the tired mercenary have his sleep.

…

When the Vertibird touched back down in Diamond City, it was twilight. It had been completely silent for the entire ride, though it wasn't nearly as tense. Piper just felt the exhaustion in the air, both between the Elder as well as Blue. When they landed, Elder Maxson quietly excused himself and returned to the upper boxes. That left Piper and Blue. Blue turned towards Piper.

"I think I'm gonna go for a walk, Piper." He said. "Just…clear my head."

"Blue, are you okay?" Piper asked. "What you said over at the Castle…"

"Yeah. It didn't feel good." Blue admitted. "But…but that's the first time that I've really admitted it. At least like that. And if nothing else, I know that Elder Maxson now knows that I have legitimate reasons to dislike the Institute and I'm not just being a sympathizer. We're more alike than you'd think."

Piper shuddered.

"I hope not, Blue. You're sweet and funny and kind and…Maxson isn't. He's an asshole."

"There's a reason that everyone is the way they are, Piper." Blue said. He was silent. But then he spoke again. "But things can change. People change. It's the only hope for the future, you know?"

Piper just nodded. Blue chuckled, and then spoke again.

"You've always been good to me, Piper. The best, really."

He then hugged her. At first, Piper wasn't sure what was going on. But then she returned the embrace. She noticed that his shoulders were pretty stout and he didn't feel too soft so clearly he exercise-

Where did _that_ come from?

Blue broke the embrace, and then winked at her.

"You should go check on Nat. No doubt she's had a busy day writing the _Publick_ without you." He turned around and walked away, leaving behind a very flustered reporter.

Piper turned around to walk away, only to see a familiar face standing in front of the _Publick_ with Nat.

"Hey, Nicky." Piper said. Nick Valentine looked at her and grinned.

"Howdy, Piper. I take it things were a little rough over at the Castle?"

"You…have no idea." Piper said. Nick chuckled.

"I'll buy you a drink at the Dugout and we can chat. Vadim said I could get a two-for-one special thanks to the extra business this peace talk has brought to his business."

"You know what, Nicky?" Piper said. "That would be great. Because after today, I need a drink. I need a big, big drink." Nick chuckled and clapped his hand on Pipers shoulder.

"Lead the way, Toots."

"…Don't call me that, Nicky."

"Sure thing, Doll. I'll leave the pet names to your boy toy."

" _He is not my boy…Nick!_ "

"What? I'm a private detective. I tend to notice things."

"Nick…"

"Or maybe I'm just an old man. I'll let you decide."

…

Whenever it got particularly dark, he liked to climb up here at night. There were a few lights down in the city, but for the most part there wasn't any light except the stars and the moon if he was lucky. He'd discovered the entrance to these seats up high on his first week in Diamond City. He was lucky that the security hadn't caught him: usually he had to wait until they'd left before he shimmied up here. But now that he was the General, he could do whatever he wanted.

And right now, what he wanted was to sit up in the box seats on top of the Green Monster at Fenway Park.

There were times where it got to him. The fact that his favorite baseball team's stadium was now a shantytown. A thriving shantytown, but a shantytown all the same. He wondered if the people down there even knew what the meaning of this old wall was from the old days. If he had it his way, that doofus Moe would be kicked out of the city for his debasing of the name of "baseball." The thought of kids not liking the sport because they mistakenly thought it was a bloodsport was enough to curdle his blood and set his teeth on edge.

But then he took a puff from his cigar. And that made things feel a little bit beter.

There was a soft breeze in the air. It was enough to make the wind whistle gently through the rickety old seats up here. But it did not completely block out any noise. And thus, he was able to hear the sound of someone walking up to sit by him. The figure took a seat next to Blue, unfolding the seat to make sure that it was still working. They both sat in silence for what felt like a few minutes. It was probably only a few seconds, but it felt longer.

"That's quite a view." Arthur Maxson said. Blue nodded, and grunted once in agreement. Maxson tilted his head to the side, and scratched his beard in thought. "How many people do you think lived in this city before everything?"

His voice didn't have the same forcefulness that it normally carried. Here, with no one around them and no one to judge or supervise, Blue noted that Arthur Maxson sounded quite young.

"About a million." Blue said. "The overcrowding did a number in the inner city infrastructure. I was lucky to get out into the suburbs. There was more space."

Maxson nodded, though it was clear that he didn't fully understand what a "suburb" was. After a few moments of sitting, Arthur Maxson spoke again.

"When I was ten, I was placed in charge of the Brotherhood of Steel." He said. "All my life, I was raised on the notion that I was the heir to a great legacy, that my forefather Roger Maxson had created the Brotherhood of Steel as a way to protect the future of humanity from the perils of science run amuck. I was told I would lead the Brotherhood of Steel to a golden age, and soon the world would rebuild behind me." He paused. "My first day in power armor, I shot my commanding officer."

There was a pause. Blue looked incredulously at Maxson, who kept staring out into the distance with a passive face…until he started to snicker. Blue started to laugh too, and before long the two of them were both laughing.

"Did…did this person die?" Blue finally asked.

"No." Maxson said. "But she damn near killed me! PT'd my ass until I was puking up the previous month's food." He chuckled again. "She molded me into the man I would become…I was raised to be assured in every decision that I made was the right one. And yet here I stand with you, finding myself questioning almost everything that I have believed in for years. Why is that?"

Blue paused for a moment. And then he found his voice.

"Because you're human, Arthur. Anyone who thinks that every single decision that they make is correct is delusional. That's just not how the chain of command works. That's not how being an honest and good ruler works."

"What, then, in your opinion, makes a good ruler?" Maxson asked.

Blue thought it over. And then he spoke.

"Being a good ruler is…confidence. The ability to know that whatever decision you make, you have the capability to see it through to the end. But at the same time, you know that nothing you say or do is infallible…so you surround yourself with smart people that you can trust and who you know have the best interest of the people at heart. And at the same time…every decision you make? Not all of them are gonna land. So whenever that happens, you just admit you screwed up and then work to fix the problem. But above all, I guess the most important thing to remember is that power is fleeting. It won't last forever. So you better be damned sure to do right by those that trust you with taking care of them. And in the end, you just trust that things work out in the end."

Blue finished his speech, and then looked over at Maxson.

"How do you do it? How do you handle it all?"

Maxson contemplated this for a moment. And then he spoke.

"Sometimes…I feel the need to prove myself." He said. "There are some Proctors in the Brotherhood who have been making decisions since before I was born. Some of them have been retired from active duty longer than I have been alive. Every day, I deal with the lot of them. 'Arthur, you must do this.' 'Arthur, you must do that.' 'Arthur, this decision might not be in the best interest of the Brotherhood.'" He sighed, and rubbed his brow in exhaustion. "And there are times where I feel they wait for me to stumble, so that they can declare the Maxson line a failed dynasty. And then they will replace me with someone that will easily cowtow to the hardliners, or those that have personal gains in mind over the long-term advancement of both the Brotherhood and the human race."

"Do you believe them?" Blue asked. "That the Maxson line is a doomed line?"

"No." Arthur said, blinking once and then turning to look at Blue. "I can feel the rush with every decision I make. I can see the world shaping in front of me. And the thought of being at the wheel as humanity shakes itself off and pulls itself out of the dust is _exhilarating._ I do not fear the challenges of the future. I _welcome_ them." He smacked his fist into his glove. He was silent for a moment.

"Then what are you afraid of?" Blue asked. "Are you afraid of offending traditionalists? Is that why you make such a big deal about playing hardball with me?"

"It isn't about 'playing hardball,' General." Arthur said. "It's about making my opinions clear. You may disagree with my methods, but you cannot deny that my goal is to make the Commonwealth a better place, and to make the world capable of healing from what happened in the past."

"But no one man should have all that power." Blue said. "And if you push too hard, you're gonna lose the people here. I mean, you could, if you wanted, lay down the law. You could proclaim yourself king, and enforce every policy you wish and not give a damn what others think." He took a puff from his cigar, and blew out a massive cloud of smoke as he looked at the Elder. "But you'd better be ready to kill everyone. And I mean everyone. No one will bow to what they feel are repressive policies. They'll fight to the very last man or woman, because oppressive policies are what pushed us to the brink. Do you want to kill everyone again?"

"I don't _want_ to kill _anyone._ " Maxson said. "All military strategies I come up with are designed to minimize casualties. And in turn I want to make the world…safe. That's what I want, General."

"That's what I want, too." Blue said.

There was a silence. And then Maxson spoke.

"…Then I guess this isn't hopeless after all."

"What do you mean?" Blue asked. Maxson chuckled.

"Some of my advisors told me that this was a pointless exercise. That the Commonwealth wasn't capable of sending people that could match our policymakers. They thought that the Commonwealth was filled with country bumpkins that couldn't string two sentences together. But I…objected. I thought that there were a few good men and women down here, and that they were willing to compromise. And I found one in you, General."

Blue chuckled, and ran his hand through his shaggy hair.

"My name is Nate." Blue said. "You can call me Nate."

"Is it short for something?" Maxson asked.

"Yeah. My full name is Nathanael Greene. I share it with an old Revolutionary war general."

"I guess that makes you a very fitting leader for the Minutemen, then." Maxson said.

They both laughed.

"We fight, get beat, rise, and fight again." Blue said. "That was his motto."

"Why let him hog it?" Maxson asked. "That seems a fitting motto for the Commonwealth. Perhaps something worthy to put on official flags or letterhead." He paused, and then sighed. "Tomorrow…we will discuss your plan for this…trial and this Dr. Virgil with the others. And from there, that about deals with everything. Except for the Synth question."

"And what is there to say about that?" Blue asked. "The Institute is destroyed. Synths cannot be produced anymore."

"That may be so, but the message must be sent that the very creation of Synths is an abomination. So that no more are made."

"And what of those that are still here?" Blue asked. "The ones that have assimilated into society and are living quiet lives?"

"I do not have an answer for that at this time." Maxson said. Blue sighed.

"Nothing."

"Nothing. I cannot reconcile that. I have bent on many things, but I simply cannot see Synths as anything more than perversions of nature. If we are to go through with this trial, then we will need to know how many Synths there are out there and, if possible, find how many of them were brought into the Commonwealth for malicious purposes."

"And what about those that were not? Or were forgotten?" Blue asked.

Maxson paused. He then stayed silent. Blue then took a deep breath.

"If you at least allow for an explanation of the assignment of every Synth, then we can determine which are the ones that might need to be brought in and those that can just live their lives. Including Danse." Blue said, ignoring the livid expression on Elder Maxson's face. "And if you are willing to do that, I will give you something in return."

"It had better be something that somehow manages to cover up the fact that I'll allow you to let that thi- _Danse_ live with you." Elder Maxson said. "And that would have to be something very fucking big."

Blue took a deep breath. And then he took a puff from his cigar.

"Vault 111."

Maxons nearly fell out of his chair.

"…What?" He asked.

"If you are willing to let this trial progress naturally, and with the fullest of due process and the intentions of civility and law…I will give the Brotherhood of Steel access to Vault 111." Blue said. "Think of the technology in there. And the things that you could learn about the old world through its logs. It is a treasure trove of information."

"You're willing to part with that knowledge?" Elder Maxson asked, thunderstruck. "Why…what on earth would motivate you to do such a thing?"

"I have no use for that nightmarish place." Blue said. "My wife is there. And there's nothing but death and pain for me in there."

"…Oh." Elder Maxson said.

The silence lasted an eternity. Finally, Maxson spoke.

"What…what was she like?" Arthur asked. "If…if you don't mind?"

"…I don't." Blue said. "She was…she was the light of my life. Nora. I remember my first date with her. I'd been with a few of my buddies, off on shore leave. We were in this little dive bar, and there was Nora and a few of her friends standing at the bar. Some of my buddies nudged me to go get her, and then did everything they could to make me look like a dumbass." He started to smile a bit. "When I finally got to her, she just raised an eyebrow and looked totally un-interested. So I told her the truth: my buddies were setting me up, and they didn't think I could get her number. So I told her to write a fake number on a sheet and give it to me so that I could laugh in their faces…she gave me a cryptic smile, and then did just that. I won $100 bucks, or about 200 caps, from that one."

"But that wasn't the last time you saw her, right?" Arthur asked. Blue laughed.

"No. I got home, and on a lark decided to call the number she'd written…lo and behold, it was actually her phone number. We went out for burgers and ice cream the next night…and the rest, as they say, was history." He wiped a tear from his eye. "I've…I've only just come to grips with the fact that I have to let her go. And I have…but Vault 111 hangs over me like a grim reaper, taunting me about her death in its bowels. I need to get rid of it. And if you can do that for me, then…then I'll do anything to help work with you."

Elder Maxson was silent for a moment. And then he gestured towards Blue.

"…If the offer is still on the table…I think I'll take you up on that cigar, now."

Blue stared at him, wordlessly, and then handed the freshly-clipped cigar towards Elder Maxson. Maxson leaned in as Blue lit it…and then started to cough violently. Blue laughed.

"Puff. Don't inhale."

It took a few moments, but soon Maxson was healthily puffing away. He then took the cigar out of his mouth, and then blew the smoke into the air. He looked over at Blue.

"I think I could get used to this." He said.

"They're not bad." Blue admitted.

Maxson smiled. And then he spoke again.

"I loved someone once. She died some time ago, but I knew that I loved her even when I was a boy. She was always there for me, in that sort of protective, comforting way." He said. "I knew that it was never going to happen, you know. I was but a boy, and she was a grown woman. But…that didn't stop the feelings. And whenever I studied my history of the Brotherhood or worked to improve my field training and command, I always did it wondering what she thought of it all. Whether she'd be proud of me. And that thought has always been there with me. When I heard about her death…it just felt like I'd been ripped in two. And the only solace I cold take was the fact that…that in the end, she was finally getting the rest she deserved. Because she fought so hard. So, so hard." He sniffled a little bit, and Blue thought he saw a tear running down the young man's face. "And yet I miss her every day. I never told her how I felt, you know? I should've…maybe I'd have been embarrassed, but…now I'll never know."

"She's not gone, you know." Blue finally said. "As long as you remember her…"

"I know." Maxson said. "I know."

He paused. And then he looked over at Blue.

"She deserves a proper send-off."

"…Sorry?" Blue asked. Maxson was adamant.

"Your wife. She deserves a burial with full honors, given to her by the Brotherhood of Steel. A funeral, and then a military burial. She deserves better than to rot in Vault 111 forever. I won't allow it." He said.

"But I'm not Brotherhood anymore." Blue said.

"Maybe so. But if you're about to reach over the aisle for something like this, then the least I can do is let you know how much such an offer is appreciated." He said. He then extended his hand. "Together, shall we make the Commonwealth a better place?"

Blue stared at the Elder's hand for a moment.

But only for a moment. He needed to make sure he could see where he was reaching.

They shook hands, and a gentle breeze rustled through the stands.

They sat back in their seats, and Elder Maxson took a moment to enjoy his cigar. Finally, he spoke up.

"You asked me how I get through it all."

"I did." Blue said.

"You want to know what keeps me going in the end, in the wake of every decision I make?" Elder Maxson asked.

Blue leaned over, staring intently at the man next to him.

Maxson let out a breath of smoke, and stared up to the heavens.

"I think of Sarah." Elder Arthur Maxson said. "The rest is easy."

A/N: And the biggest chapter is over! This one was tough, especially as I danced between how I wanted to characterize Maxson. In the end, I stole from history, using the template of Mikhael Gorbechev: he was willing to reform, and yet often put on an act in order to appeal to higher ups in order to save his power. Perhaps after talking to Blue, he'll be more confident in letting the Proctors know that _he_ is in charge, and not his legacy? We will see…

…because this story can't just end with Détente! I plan to add a sequel story to this one, because there are a few questions that still need answering. And I don't intend to leave them unanswered forever. And I also can't do them justice with the one remaining chapter I have in this story (really, it's the epilogue. Stick to the end, there'll be a surprise!)

See you next time!


	12. Epilogue

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on. And thank you to everyone that has enjoyed this story! Look for my name to pop up on the Fallout fanfic board in the near future with the sequel. It's been a hell of a ride, and I love all of you that reviewed it. But for now, I present the conclusion of _Détente_.

It was quiet.

There wasn't a real tension in the air. Not the bad kind, anyway. But there was…something. The air was electric. Like those that stood in the room were on the cusp of something truly incredible. They were all staring at her, expectantly.

Because they were waiting on her to read out the fruits of their labor. Every pair of eyes in the room was upon Piper Wright, and she felt every last one of them. Even Scribe Haylen, who was sitting next to her, seemed to be just as agitated as she was. Piper took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"Resolved," She began. "That the Commonwealth shall extend full citizenry, and every benefit that entails, to all cooperative Ghouls. Bloodwork shall be sent to Vault 81, an independent site, where lab work with be conducted both to study and improve the condition of every affected individual if possible."

"Resolved," Scribe Haylen said, reading the next bullet point. "That the city of Goodneighbor shall be recognized as a legitimate settlement, and that its current mayor John Hancock is to be considered its lawfully elected leader."

Hancock looked mighty pleased with that one.

Back and forth the two scribes went, their hands shaking slightly as they read the various pieces of the treaty that had been the fruit of weeks' worth of labor.

"Resolved, That a settlement for the Brotherhood of Steel shall be established in Goodneighbor, provided such settlers pay civic duties as dictated by the mayor's office." Haylen said.

"Resolved, That free trade shall be respected between settlements, and those that seek to disrupt these supply lines for reasons detrimental to the overall health of the Commonwealth shall be appropriately prosecuted." Piper said.

"Resolved, That training and arming of citizenry in the discipline of non-ballistic weapons shall be organized and regulated by the Brotherhood of Steel. Those who possess such weaponry prior to the passage of this agreement are allowed to keep their weapons without a license, provided consistent payment of a duty."

"Resolved, that the freedom of the press and right to assembly shall be respected and not infringed upon."

Piper tried and failed to hold her smile.

"Resolved, that those considered part of the so-called 'Institute Remnant' shall be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for varying crimes against the overall health and safety of the Commonwealth."

"Resolved, that a special court system shall be convened for the above case, with each defendant granted the right to counsel, a speedy trial, the chance to face their accuser, and the right to be judged by a jury of their peers as in accordance with the philosophy of due process."

"Resolved, that the Commonwealth shall seek to create a form of communicative government between settlements, whose creation will be respected by both the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel."

"Resolved, that the current 'government' in the city of Quincy is considered an outlaw state, and the Brotherhood and the Minutemen shall take all efforts to destroy it for the sake of peace in the Commonwealth."

"Resolved, that the Brotherhood of Steel is granted the privilege to enter and research Vault 111, with the goal of determining how to improve Commonwealth life with their research results."

"Resolved, that the Minutemen shall work in tandem with the Brotherhood of Steel to defend the Commonwealth from all enemies, both internal and external."

"Resolved, that the Brotherhood of Steel shall work in tandem with the Minutemen to defend the Commonwealth from all enemies, both internal and external."

"Resolved, that the Brotherhood of Steel and the Minutemen currently possess and shall continue to possess a special friendship, designed for the common good and the general safety of the public."

There as a long silence. And then Elder Maxson looked over at Blue.

"14 points." He said. "Not bad."

"Not bad at all." Blue said. At this, Maxson shrugged. He looked around him.

"Are there any objections?"

Proctor Quinlan and Proctor Ingram both shook their head. He looked back at Blue, who then looked at his own advisors. Hancock and Preston both shook their head.

"Then shall we put it in writing?" Blue asked, producing a pen.

"Gladly." Arthur Maxson said.

"What do we call it?" Someone asked. For a moment, there was no answer. And then Proctor Ingram spoke up.

"What about something sufficiently governmental and official…like…the 'Commonwealth Accords?'"

There was a pause as this was allowed to sink in.

"The Commonwealth Accords…" Blue said. "I like that." He looked at Maxson. "You like that?"

"I like that." The Elder said.

"Then let's sign the damned thing, Elder."

"Agreed, General."

…

"EXTRA! EXTRA! THE COMMONWEALTH ACCORDS RATIFIED! BROTHERHOOD AND MINUTEMEN COME TO A LANDMARK AGREEMENT!"

Piper chuckled as she watched Nat blaring out the latest news at the top of her lungs. There was a line of citizens from all the way to the water treatment plant trying to get the newest edition of the _Publick_. Piper was exhausted. She'd spent four hours writing the damned thing, and then needed to fix up Baby so that it could print out enough copies. If it wasn't for the help of the old Minuteman, named Jethro, they wouldn't have fixed the thing.

Piper watched as the pile of caps grew quite mountainous, and her head started spinning. She could pay several _years'_ worth of rent on that money alone. And then there was the possibility that the _Publick_ would start to get read in other settlements in the Commonwealth. With that came subscriptions, and subscription fees…

She was starting to feel light-headed.

"You okay, missus Piper?" The old Minuteman asked. Jethro took off his bandana, and wiped his forehead. He'd been tinkering with Baby for the last ten minutes, mostly to keep it ready for the evening rush. Piper looked over at him, and then blinked.

"Huh? Yeah…yeah, I'm okay."

"She's just daydreaming of living the high life now that she's making money on this old rag."

" _Nicky!_ "

Piper whirled around to confront her friend, who was leaning against the railing behind her. He was chuckling, as he leafed through the _Publick._

"I have to say, Piper, you're a damned fine writer to begin with, but this is definitely your best work. I won't go so far as to say it's your magnum opus, though…" He lit a cigarette and smiled. "…because you've got a long career ahead of you."

"Thanks, Nicky." Piper said, a smile enveloping her face. Next to Nick, Ellie Perkins was reading the paper as well.

"This is some good stuff, though, Piper." She said. "Was it really that tense up there in the Mayor's office?" She asked. "Because this reads like a good thriller."

"It was pretty tough at times." Piper said. "I tried not to embellish it at all, and let the story speak for itself."

"There are a few things that are left unanswered, though." Nick said. "What about the future of the mayor's office in Diamond City? What about the Institute trial that's coming up? Who's brave or crazy enough to be the defense attorney for the Institute?"

"Defense attorney?" Piper asked. Nick looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Piper. There's no such thing as a fair trial unless someone defends the accused. And neither our friend nor the Elder is gonna send someone from their ranks. They'll be too colored in their biases. No…it's gotta be a public defender. Someone who not only is willing to do the job, but do the job _properly._ As much as I hate to think of any of those Institute types walking free. But that's why I'm not a lawyer. I'm just a grumpy old man." He chuckled. "In the end, I'm sure that the answers to my questions will come pretty darned soon."

"What about your boyfriend, Piper?" Ellie asked, a devilish grin on her face. "He pleased with these?"

" _He is not my-"_ Piper just gave up. "You two are evil, you know that?" She said. She sighed. "He's tired. He said he was going back to the Castle to see his son. And get some sleep. And then he said that he's gonna come back to Diamond City next week for some adventuring."

"Adventuring. Right." Ellie said, not looking up from her paper and not at all convinced. "And would that adventuring involve knocking on the door of the _Publick_? I bet it does."

Piper threw a crumpled up piece of paper at Ellie. It was a direct hit to the forehead.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right, Ellie. There's an old saying from back in the day, you know: 'you mess with the Deathclaw, you get the horns.'"

"Are you implying that I'm a Deathclaw, Nicky?" Piper asked with a growing smile. Nick returned the smirk.

"The thought crossed my mind."

Giggling, Piper then decided to start throwing at the Synth's head too.

…

The Vertibird docked in the Prydwen, and with a hissing there was a light flashing that signaled an all-clear to disembark. Elder Maxson stepped off the Vertibird, and returned the line of salutes that the Brotherhood intiates gave him as he walked towards the flight deck.

Lancer-Captain Kells was waiting for him on the bridge.

"Elder!" Kells said, firing off a snappy salute. "The news is flowing of your treaty with the Minutemen. I trust that you are satisfied with the results."

"I am, Lancer-Captain." Elder Maxson said. At this, Kells nodded.

"Good, because I have heard some grumblings that you conceded too much to the Minutemen. Not that I believe these rumors myself, but I figured you should know."

In the past, such a thought would send Maxson into a foul mood, but instead he looked over at Kells.

"These people need to remember that _I_ am the Elder of the Brotherhood, and I am not a puppet to be played with. This is the best deal not only for the Brotherhood, but also for the Commonwealth. Besides…I have faith in the General of the Minutemen that we shall continue to be able to negotiate in good faith in the future."

"That is a far cry from your opinion of him a few weeks ago, sir. If I may be so bold." Kells said.

Maxson chuckled.

"Spend some time with him, and your opinion changes in a heartbeat. It's the strangest thing, really." He said. He scratched his chin in thought. "I suppose I'll need to start making preparations for his wife's service."

"I only wish that he was still with us." Kells said. "He was a man with us in the Brotherhood."

"He's a man today, Lancer-Captain." Arthur Maxson said. "He's a damn fine man today."

They stood there in silence.

"So, do you still want the report on these Atom types that are holding up the Kingsport Lighthouse?"

"Yes, thank you." Elder Maxson said, taking the brief. "I figure it might be a good sign of our good faith if we could get these fools out of the Commonwealth. Make it easier for the Minutemen to walk along the coast."

"It'll be a lot of work, sir."

"That's the thing about it, Kells." Maxson said. "The end result is what we desire, but there is joy in the process. Never forget that."

He opened the file, and began to read.

…

The Vertibird took off, leaving the ground and dust kicked up as it disappeared into the sky of the setting sun. The group of people that it had left in the Castle looked at one another.

"A hell of a job, General." Preston said. "We really did something good for the Commonwealth."

"And you emancipated Ghouls!" Hancock said. "I can't fucking believe it! I'm gonna go find Cait and celebrate. Later, schmoes!" He raced off, cackling like a madman. Blue looked after him and chuckled.

"Never change, Hancock."

Then he looked over to the side of the Castle.

"Captain Danse!"

The man in question turned around from his paperwork, and saw the General was back. He dropped his equipment, and jogged over. As soon as he got within a few feet, he stood upright and saluted. Blue returned the gesture.

"It's good to have you back, General." Danse said.

"Always so formal, Danse." Blue said. "Nate is fine, too."

"…Very well…Nate." Danse said. Blue's smile faded.

"Where is my son?"

"Daddy!"

Blue barely had enough time to turn around and catch his son, picking him up and spinning him around.

"How you doin', little man?" He asked. He then noticed the C-shaped scar above Shaun's left eye. "What happened, Shaun? Are you alright?"

"A bad man tried to get me." Shaun said. "But Aunt Cait, Uncle Danse, and Strong saved me!"

Blue's eyes briefly flashed with fear, but soon there was a sense of relief as he hugged his son again. He looked up at Danse.

"It was a Courser." Danse said. "Code-name X6-88. It wanted to get to you through Shaun. It didn't succeed, though it did kill a few Minutemen out on patrol."

"Notify their families." Blue said. "Let them know their loved ones died serving the Commonwealth." Danse nodded, and then ordered a nearby soldier to grab some writing paper for the task.

"I hear the peace talk went well." Danse said, as he pulled out his pipe. Blue smiled.

"I never figured you for a pipe, Danse."

"Well, a fusspot needs to be reliable." Danse said.

"…Fusspot?" Blue asked. Danse looked a little embarrassed.

"…Never mind. An inside joke." He said. He soon had the pipe smoking, and gestured around him. "The Castle was like a finely-tuned machine in your absence, sir. The guards were sharp, trading was smooth, and Colonel Shaw was able to prepar-"

"I'm glad to hear it, Danse, but right now I don't want to talk logistics of anything. Is there anything that is mission critical?"

"No, sir." Danse said. "The world is quiet tonight."

"It won't be for long, but let's enjoy it while it lasts." Blue said with a smile. He turned to Shaun. "Why don't you go ask Aunt Curie what she's making for dinner. It smells quite good."

"Okay, Dad! Bye!" Shaun raced off. That left just Danse and Blue, as Preston took this moment to take his leave.

"Is he alright?" Blue asked.

"The Courser said that he was a Synth." Danse said.

"…Did he believe him?"

"No. Especially when I revealed that I was a Synth instead. I offered the Courser myself instead of the boy. But I guess the machine wasn't wired for understanding compassion." Danse said. He then sighed. "And yet I'm no different than him. I must be very good at faking it."

"Danse, stop talking." Blue growled. Danse looked back at him.

"Sir?"

"Don't 'sir' me. It's 'Nate.' I talk to my friends like they're my friends, not just in their military stylings." Blue said. He looked Danse in the eye. "X6-88 was designed for one purpose: hunting down Synths. He was a tool. You? You were designed to be like a human. That was it. Your purpose was whatever you made it to be. And you chose to live a life that would help defend the Commonwealth, and help save my son. You're more of a man than most of the humans I know." Blue said. "And I am honored to call you my second-in-command and my closest friend."

"…I don't know what to say, Nate." Danse said quietly.

"You don't have to say anything." Blue said. "I've been keeping in touch with Colonel Shaw. She said that the Captain was doing an excellent job running the day-to-day operations of the Castle, and it got me realizing: perhaps I might like to make that position legitimate, and not just temporary. Would you be interested?"

"Are you retiring?" Danse asked.

"No!" Blue chuckled. "Not with so much work to do. But I think that the Castle needs a full-time operator, and I can't think of anyone better equipped to do that than you." He looked Danse in the eye. "So will you do it?"

"I'd be honored, Nate." Danse said. He felt happier than he had in a long time. Blue smiled, and reached into his pocket.

"Good. Because I really wanted to take the opportunity to use these things. I found them in the military museum and figured it better to use them than to let them rot."

Danse popped the little box open. He stared in confusion.

"Oak leaves?" He asked.

"Congratulations, Major." Blue said, saluting sharply.

Danse returned the gesture, and when Blue lowered his hand Danse got to work pinning the little golden symbols on the collar of his shirt. He straightened them, and then smiled.

"This means the most in the world, Nate." He said. "Thank you for treating me…well…like I am a man too."

Blue stared at him in confusion.

"I've never thought of you as anything else." He said.

Danse considered that more important than any other accolade he had ever received.

"Oy, fusspot! Why not come up here and have a drink, celebrate your little leaves!"

Danse and Blue looked up at Cait, who was sitting by one of the artillery guns high on the wall. Danse looked over at Blue, and looked sheepish.

"I shouldn't…"

"Go ahead." Blue laughed. "I'll cover you for tonight. You deserve to have some fun." He said. Dismissed, Major." He said, opting to push Danse up towards Cait. She laughed, and then tossed Danse a bottle of something that smelled quite strong.

Blue watched them, and then turned around to get a view of the Castle. Several levels had been built to this old and wonderful place. He saw Curie and Sheffield in the garden, with Codsworth trimming where they directed them. MacCready was trying his best to put the moves on this Minutewoman, who proceeded hit a target sharper than he had. Hancock was singing and dancing in the center of the Castle. Colonel Shaw was discussing radio policy with Jonathan. There was Shaun, giggling and laughing and he ran and explored all through the center of it.

The Castle, the Minutemen, and the Commonwealth were alive and well. And he'd helped carve out a peace for his time.

He hoped it would last.

…

…

Whenever she went silent, he knew that she was off in some faraway place in her head. She wasn't much for talking these days even to begin with, though. Most of the time, she seemed to stare off into the distance, going off on a walk deep within her mind. Even when he called her for food or water, sometimes she didn't respond right away. She was a highly competent wastelander, that much he was certain…and yet…there were days that he feared that if he ever left her side she would wind up dead. He just couldn't bear the thought. She had been too nice to him, way back before things took a nosedive. And despite her gruff exterior, he knew that she was still the same, caring person that he'd grown to know. It was just buried in the wasteland's influence on her.

She hardly looked like what she did the first time he saw her. She was dressed in leather, ragged armor and a thin duster that flapped about her ankles in the gentle breeze. Everything was patched or torn, and it had been sewn together so many times that he doubted the original fabric even remained. She wore thick high-top hiking boots, and yet was still somehow swifter than anything else on the battlefield.

She was going for a red scarf today, wrapped around her neck and covering the lower half of her face, with the tail of the scarf dangling over her back shoulder. It was almost tangled with her long, braided hair that went down her shoulders. Well, perhaps braided was not quite accurate. It was wild and ragged and a poor excuse for such description. Once it had been shiny blonde, but now it was caked with dirt and grime to create a muddy blonde-brown mix. And she wore dark goggles so that you could not even see her eyes.

He remembered when she looked normal. Now she looked feral.

"I've cooked up the Mirelurk to get some of the rads out of the meat." He said. "Would you like some?"

Silence. She stares out over the expanse in front of them. It is ground zero for what must have been a terrible explosion. They'd been cutting up through the eastern seaboard and had never seen the aftermath of a bomb quite like this before. It had flattened the land, and in the distance, where the bomb clearly fell, the sky was green and tinged with what looked like lightning.

"It will take us some time to get around that." He said. He sighed. "I would have no trouble making my way through the high radiation, with my condition, but you have no power armor to protect yourself. Not since we had to ditch it in Bawlmer."

Silence.

He felt the awkwardness in trying to make conversation, and decided instead to turn on his radio. It was a dinky little thing that they'd salvaged from some scrap yard, and it was also the best way to tell if there was still civilization out there: whenever a station was apparent, they knew that they were close. He dialed and messed with the antennae, frustrated with the lack of progress.

"Blast! This thing needs new batteries." He smacked the side of it, and the static disappeared. "Success!"

 _"Well hello there, everyone. Travis Lonely Miles coming to you live from Diamond City, right in the heart of the Commonwealth. I gotta say…it's been a crazy couple of weeks. We've got the Institute destroyed, some of its remnant on trial,_ _ **and**_ _there's talks of a new civil government getting set up amongst the settlements around the area! I never thought I'd live to see it, but I guess we have the Minutemen and the Brotherhood to thank for that._ "

He watched her go rigid, as she heard the silky smooth voice on the radio. He cleared his throat.

"My friend, do not jump to conclusions. It is not certain that this is the same brotherhood that we know or that we are looking for. In all likelihood, it is a splinter cell. After all, was not the Brotherhood that we fought with another splinter cell as well?"

She said nothing. But she reached for her wrist and pressed a button on the device that adorned it. Music filled the air.

 _Oh, I'm the type of guy, that likes to roam around_

"My friend, you must be reasonable. If it _is_ Maxson's Brotherhood, they will no doubt be heavily entrenched in this Commonwealth."

 _Where pretty girls are, well you know that I'm around_

He watched as she absently stroked the weapon holstered on her hip. It was a terrifyingly large pistol: according to some records that they'd salvaged, it was called a Desert Eagle, though he wasn't sure what an eagle even was, nor why it would live in some place as hellish as a desert.

 _I kiss and I love 'em, 'cuz to me they're all the same_

"I know what you want. And it is my job to steer you from harm. But I will follow you no matter what, because that is what friends do. But this is not something to be taken lightly. It will be the two of us against a veritable army. We will be fighting a war!"

 _I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em, they don't even know my name!_

She turned to face him. Fawkes felt his stomach sink. Her voice was little more than a growl. But there was no arguing with it.

"We go to the Commonwealth."

 _They call me the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer_

 _I roam around around around around…_


End file.
